The Messiah Has Come
by IdeasGuy
Summary: Raiders, rapists, and slavers die without exception. That was the code that Jonah Wick used as a moral compass in the Captial Wasteland, and it served him well. He turned that unlivable hellhole into the safest haven in the American wasteland and when he suddenly finds himself in the grand city of Myr? Well, it was time to spread the gospel of him through mini-nukes yet again.
1. The Messiah Has Come

Jonah Wick was use to weird things happening to him. In the short year he stepped out of vault 101, he's fought giant fire breathing ants, super mutants, fought along side a communist hating giant robot, killed hundreds of raiders and slavers, lead a slave revolt, ended the remains of the American government for good, annnd countless other nonsense he dealt with on a daily basis. Not to mention that one time he was abducted by aliens.

Aliens. As in little green men. He fought them. In a giant space ship...and if they didn't have a home planet somewhere, he might have committed genocide on accident.

Which was why he simply yawned in response to waking up in a foreign location instead of the two-hundred-year-old bed in some dilapidated building.

He pushed himself off the cobble stone road, awakened by the noise around him. After giving his eyes a good rub to get rid of the sleep, he looked up and saw something that shouldn't be possible.

The world around him was alive. Dozens walked through the streets. Almost all of them were filthy, something Jonah didn't consider foreign, however, their clothing was odd. Rough with cotton and flax; most sported plenty of old stains but Jonah saw others that looked...clean. Like bathing daily kind of clean and washed their clothes more than once a week clean.

They were sending him odd looks as they passed but Jonah didn't mind. He was sending them right back. As he examined their faces, he noticed that almost everyone had a tattoo on their cheek but they weren't all the same. Some had tear drops while others had hammers. It varied from person to person while others didn't have a tattoo at all.

It didn't slip Jonah's notice that the ones without the tattoo were the ones that were dressed nicely.

What's more, he seemed to be in some kind of marketplace since people were shoving food in his face. Not only did he not recognize any of it, the coins that he saw others bargaining with looked like copper instead of bottle caps.

Then he turned his attention to what was around him and saw that everything was white. The buildings were made of what looked like marble instead of the usual grayish black of concrete. They also didn't look like they had endured nuclear fire two centuries ago, so the buildings must have been made after the world ended. Which was puzzling because concrete was a lot easier to make than cut and shape marble. Even using rusted sheet metal made more sense that using marble.

That didn't confuse him; well, it did, but he was use to waking up in odd places after drinking enough that he blacked out. Usually surrounded by trouble because Drunk!Jonah seemed to make it his personal mission to get involved in every little dispute in the wasteland and leave the clean up for Sober!Jonah.

What really confused him was how the buildings looked. Their color aside, they didn't look like buildings that belonged in the Old World or the wasteland. The windows were smaller, if they had any at all, and all the doors were painted wood. What he didn't see was just as important.

There was no neon signs, pieces of scrap metal didn't makeup anything and he couldn't see a single lamppost. There was nothing that hinted at the Old World but there was also nothing that indicated that he was anywhere near D.C. Everything around him seemed...archaic, though not in a bad way.

There was more life in this city than everywhere else in Capital Wasteland put together. The city was packed with people, hundreds instead of dozens. While the people were still a little dirty, they didn't look sick from radiation or whatever mutated virus was going around. The only thing they had in common with a wastelander was the sense of hopelessness some of them carried themselves with.

That just begged the question of where he was and how he got here.

Jonah sucked in a breath before he let out a long sigh. He didn't know. He couldn't figure out how he managed to land from point A to point B. He couldn't think of a single reason why he would suddenly be transported to a different location.

"I'll figure it out later," Jonah said to himself. He would. What he needed was more information and he wasn't going to gain it by standing around and racking his brain. If he did do something to trigger his teleportation then he wasn't going to remember it in the black nothingness that was his drunken memory.

The fact that he was suddenly teleported without any warning or even his consent didn't bother him too much. What bothered him was how little he actually cared about going back to where he was from.

There was very little holding him down; they called him wanderer for a reason. He stayed in Capital Wasteland for...no reason really. He didn't have any family, all of that was taken from him. He had no real friends; only those that he thought were a little less likely to stab him in the back or those that worshiped the ground he walked on. The few friends he did have, and the woman he had loved, were sealed in an underground bunker; forever cut off from him.

There was nothing that truly tied him to Capital Wasteland. Only fading memories and a misplaced sense of duty to do good in an evil world.

And he had done good. In a single year, he turned Capital Wasteland into an unlivable hell into one of the safest places in the American wasteland. He killed the threats, helped those that deserved help and lead them to a better life.

There were talks of a nation forming. Uniting Capital Wasteland, maybe even the east coast. They had the fire power between his cashes and the Brotherhood. The leaders all had his stamp of approval, and the idea had the support of the people.

However, as the roads got safer, as raiders and monsters learned that they weren't welcomed, Jonah became less necessary. Weeks passed and he was running into less and less trouble. The ruins of DC were running out of surprises and good loot. He felt like he helped everyone in Capital Wasteland and their mother, so there were few urgent request for him to deal with.

Some said he should take it as a sign and settle down. Plant roots in a settlement and help guide the nation that he planted the seeds too.

However, Jonah couldn't. Not after everything. A single year, three hundred and sixty-five days...it didn't sound like a lot of time but it was enough. He saw too much, did too much and had too much done to him in that year. He wasn't even remotely the same person as he was before he stepped out of vault 101.

The thought of settling down, of laying down his guns and becoming just another wastelander was impossible for him now.

Thoughts of moving on began cropped up slowly. To find another battle, some other hellhole that he could save but he was waiting to see if the fledgling nation called upon him before he set out. He would be really annoyed if he left Capital Wasteland only for it to fall apart at the seams and plunge into chaos the moment he took his eyes off it.

It seems that choice was made for him.

Jonah picked up his duffel bag and peered into it, making sure nothing was missing. Nothing was; he still had his unholy amounts of explosives, enough ammo to start, and finish, WWIV, spare parts for his pistol, Chinese assault rifle, shotgun, hunting rifle, anti-matter rifle and a whet stone for the sword of that Chinese general he got when he completed that simulation.

His medicine was also untouched, though he noticed he was running a little low on stimpacks. Plenty of Buffout and Med-X for when the occasion called for it. He also had some sugar bombs and spare clothes, but those were rather low on the priority list.

After glancing around, he decided to take out the sword and put it on his belt next to his pistol. He hadn't seen a gun, so they might be rare here and he didn't feel like broadcasting that he had plenty. With that done, he figured he should do a little exploring for some answers and scanned for any sign of the best way to get answers in a city. After all, if a town of twelve had a bar then there was no way a city of hundreds wouldn't.

Jonah wasn't sure if he found it, but he saw a couple of men standing outside of a building with drinks in their hands. Based on how they were acting, his bet was on alcohol. Picking up his bag full of fuck you levels of firepower, Jonah walked towards the bar through an actual crowd of people. It was a new experience for him and he didn't like it.

After a year in the wasteland, Jonah's instincts were honed to a razor edge and the crowd was playing havoc on them, especially considering it was his first time in anything that could be called a crowd. Every time someone bumped into him, it was a struggle to not react. Which would make things complicated real quick because his knee jerk reaction was to take out his gun and fire until he ran out of bullets or the problem went away.

However, he made it through, and he checked his pockets to make sure nothing was missing. Nothing was was, so he pushed open the door to the bar and he realized that it wasn't just a bar. That was made abundantly apparent when the stench of sex and alcohol hit him like a brick.

The bar-slash-brothel's inhabitants glanced up at him as he entered but most were quick to return to their fun. They laughed and chatted with each other or the whores. The ones that weren't were watching him with suspicion, sizing him up for a fight. Again, Jonah didn't mind because he was doing the same to them.

What stood out the most was that they were their weapons. They had swords or daggers and one guy had a mace. Jonah didn't see a single gun on one of them, not even in the places where people try to conceal their holdout weapons. That didn't make much sense because they were killers. Either they were mercenaries, guards of some sort or just straight up murders but they were killers. Jonah could recognize them instantly courtesy of being one himself.

"Retro," Jonah commented to himself, B-lining for the bar. That raised a lot of questions and the few answers he could think of didn't make much sense. Maybe he was in some place that rejected technology because of that whole apocalypse thing? That didn't make much sense since it was just-...ah, he was applying common sense to wastelanders again. That was a bad habit he never managed to break.

And that was the only theory that made any reasonable kind of sense.

'So I might have the only gun in a knife fight," Jonah mused to himself, getting the barkeeps attention. It was too early to tell if they rejected all technology or just the weapons, but that didn't sound like the worst thing in the world. This place seemed nice but he had a sneaking suspicion about the locals so having the only gun could prove handy.

The barkeep walked over to him and promptly spat in the cup in his hand before 'cleaning' it with a rag on his belt...which also was soaked with spit, by the looks of it. Just like that, Jonah's urge to drink vanished like smoke and he was too busy sighing in disappointment to bother with the barkeep when he began speaking utter gibberish at him. Great. Not only as he in a wasteland that forgot proper hygiene but they don't speak English. Why couldn't anything ever be simple for him?

"Am I even in America anymore," Jonah asked himself, shrugging at the barkeep as he asked him question in a language he didn't understand. It seems the expression 'I can't understand you' was universal because the barkeep pointed over his shoulder and barked something. Based on the tone of his voice, it sounded like an order.

Frowning, Jonah turned around and came face to face with one of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He might have a thing for latinos, if his long standing crush on Amata was anything to go by, because his heart was in danger of skipping a beat.

Her skin was a golden brown and there was a lot of it exposed. Her dress was barely fit to be called as such since it was basically a vaguely see through sheet that was tied together at the waist with a string, showing off her legs that went on for absolute miles and her sides. What really caught his attention were her tattoos.

They were small but they caught the eye, which drew them to her hips and breasts because they continued beneath her 'dress.' On her thighs were intricate designs that almost looked like a dragon but where the head would be was hidden hear her groin while her shoulders almost looked like tribal tattoos that vanished towards her breasts. They weren't overly large or unreasonably flashy. They were there to...enhance her already natural beauty.

And, boy, did beautiful describe her perfectly. High cheekbones, squarish jaw with a stubborn chin, lips that were made for kissing and eyes so blue they looked like the ocean before all the nuclear fire and centuries of pollution, The only imperfection he saw was the teardrop tattooed near one of her eyes.

Then she smiled at him, like she knew she was a knock out, which she probably did, and strutted towards him. Taking a seat next to him, she propped her head up on the counter with an elbow and gave him a well practiced, but fake, flirtatious smile.

"Hello handsome," she greeted in a sly tone, earning a sharp look from Jonah. So, wherever here was, English was a common enough of a language that the help learned it. That cut down the list a fair bit of possible wastelands but not much. "In search for some...company?" She asked, earning a crooked grin.

"Afraid not, but I am looking for information," he said and saw something flash in her eyes.

"Ah, I may have it but information is worth more than a tumble with a whore," she informed, dragging her eyes over the length of him and rose a single eyebrow. Jonah thought that was fair. He wasn't exactly dressed to impress.

He wore century old blue jeans that had some wear and tear long before he walked across the Capital Wasteland a couple dozen times. His boots were of decent quality at least, but that was because he found them in a sealed military bunker along side his sword. His white button down was more brown at this point from dirt and blood stains. On top of it, he wore kevlar body armor that he picked up in vault 101 over a year ago. It was more for style at this point because it, and he, had been shot an unreasonable number of times since he stepped out of the vault.

Jonah imagined that he looked more than a little odd in this crowd.

"Fair enough, but my questions are simple. For starters, have you ever seen one of these before?" Jonah asked as he pulled his pistol from it's holster. The woman looked at it with interest, pursing her lips in thought as she ran a finger over the stylized etching in the barrel of the gun. When she looked back at Jonah, confusion and interest were clear as day on her face.

"I haven't," she admitted and Jonah had a sinking feeling in his gut that his one reasonable theory might be wrong. "What is it," she asked and Jonah just smiled away as his mind raced.

"Nothing to worry about," Jonah said, doubting that would put her at ease or satisfy her curiosity. "For question number two, where am I?"

"You're in Averis's brothel," she said, gesturing to the barkeep as the other lazily rubbed his arm. With a wink, she grabbed his biceps and made a show of being impressed when nothing gave way. Not even when she gripped harder and harder and kept squeezing until her knuckles were turning white. Thank you, ant DNA and mad scientists, you were useful for something after all.

"No, I need the city. Country too," he added with a smirk. She stared at him for a couple of seconds, opening her mouth but closing it a moment later. Eventually, she let out a breath and Jonah could see her mentally shove her questions to the side.

"You're in the city of Myr...which is in Essos?" She asked cautiously, not exactly sure if her answer was the one he wanted. It was clear that she thought he was crazy he could tell she was waiting to see what kind of crazy he was.

Myr in Essos….yeah, no, those words meant nothing to him. Why was the continent called Essos? Was that a really weird way of saying he was in Europe? England, maybe?

Jonah let out a breath, knowing he was reaching. It was already clear that he wasn't in Capital Wasteland anymore but it was starting to look like he was a lot further away than he imagined. The picture that was being painted wasn't a pretty one and, if he was right, then this might take the place of the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him.

The picture being he had either time traveled or found himself in some alternate dimension or whatever. Jonah had the entirety of the Library of Congress on his Pip-boy, and he spent his downtime reading for anything he thought would be useful. The architecture, the clothing, the arms and armor? It was an awful lot like the Medieval times if what he saw was anything to go by. Hopefully, he was just in a place that was trying very hard to recreate them, God knows why, but wastelanders did stupid crap like that all the time. However, he had to hope for the best while planning for the worst.

Still, the idea belonged in a science fiction novel, and it was weird even for him. Going back in time? Alternate dimensions? It seemed so impossible, but most of the things that happened to him once seemed impossible. Before he exited vault 101 never did he think he was going to take a life but it was practically the first thing he did once he set foot in the wasteland. Not to mention all the weird crap that radiation did.

The word impossible just didn't carry the same weight that it once did for Jonah.

"How do you not know what city you're in? What country you're in," the woman blurted after a moment, breaking Jonah from his thoughts. Her flirtatious smile gave way to open bafflement. She was almost eager to hear his answer but she made sure to dial it back out of nervousness. She was smart too. Jonah knew what kind of guy he seemed like because he made an effort to look like an unstoppable baddass.

Jonah gave her a kind smile to put her at ease before saying, "because my trip here wasn't planned. But," he continued, waggling a finger, "I'm asking the questions here," he teased and, slowly, the flirtatious smile returned.

"Ask away, though you had better be able to pay," she said, her confidence returning once she realized that he wasn't _that_ kind of customer.

"That teardrop," he said, watching the confidence vanish and her expression went blank, "what does it mean." He kept his tone neutral, neither judging nor friendly. She was the equivalent of a radstag at the moment, too much of either and she would start running in the opposite direction.

However, a few moments passed and she collected herself. Sticking out her chin with an expression of defiance, she said, "it marks me as a pleasure slave." Her tone just dared him to belittle her for it but Jonah saw the deep seeded fear in her eyes because he was looking for it. Once upon a time, he had that same fear in his eyes.

"I believe I've answered enough of your questions," she said, standing abruptly. "You can keep your coin, though I suspect you don't have any," she added, sending Jonah a condemning look. Jonah just signed in response, realizing that he pressed too hard in the wrong place.

"If you were given your freedom, what would you do with it," he asked suddenly, making the woman freeze. She looked at him a blank expression but a storm was brewing beneath the facade.

"What does it matter? I am a slave," she said simply, staying but not sitting back down. She crossed her arms, standing tall despite her lot in life. Jonah liked that, respected it even. In the Pitt, there had only been despair and hopelessness because they thought the only way to escape was death...and, until he arrived, they had been right.

"Because it will. Now, what would you do if you were free," he asked again and she shifted from foot to foot, debating to answer. She stared at him, looking for something and she must have found it because she let out a soft sigh.

"I would buy a ship and I would travel the world to see everything it had to offer. I want to see everything; great battles between armies, places of great beauty, and I want to see all the cultures and peoples in the world. Then, I would paint all that I have seen," she said, her eyes far away and her arms shifted from stubborn defiance to almost as if she were hugging herself in reassurance.

Jonah smiled widely, "you don't dream small." He commended, breaking her away from her thoughts. When she looked at him with a softer gaze but she sighed again.

"Why do you ask me these questions? I will never be free. I make my Master too much money to ever buy my freedom and I will die of disease long before my beauty fades," she said, turning her gaze to the floor.

"I'm asking because it matters," Jonah repeated, earning a look from her. He looked right back and saw the question she wanted to ask but couldn't bring herself to. So, with a shrug, he answered.

"Growing up, I wasn't a slave but I wasn't free. I lived in a place where everything was controlled. When we ate, slept and even had free time. What I could become was determined by a test and who I could marry was determined by eugenics. I hated every second of it. I hated never having a choice in what I wanted," Jonah began, recalling his time in vault 101. Back then, he thought the Overseer was the worst person in the world and that hole in the ground was hell.

It was an honest wonder why he hadn't suffered an 'accident' in the vault long before he left. He always chafed underneath all the rules and it didn't help that he had always been a black sheep for reasons he hadn't known at the time.

"Eventually, my father left but the man who ruled wanted to torture and kill me for what he did. I didn't fancy that, so I escaped. I got my freedom and I stepped out into the real world." The first time he saw the wasteland was an experience he would never forget. He had been both amazed and utterly terrified by the sheer immensity of it all. Until that point, his entire world had been dull gray corridors and artificial sun lamps. Nothing could prepare him for the sky or the landscape that stretched for as far as the eye could see.

"However, the outside world fucking sucked. Everything wanted to kill you or enslave you and the few bastions of humanity were hanging on by a frayed thread. Everyone was out for themselves and you could find yourself with a knife in your gut for a couple of caps or you looked at someone funny, or because they thought it would be funny. All depends on what kind of place you were in at the moment." Jonah said and he had her rapt attention.

"I didn't react well to the change. I wasn't prepared for just how brutal it all was. People were murdered over dirty puddles of water, raiders used mutilated corpses as decorations and slavery was everywhere. I had some bad experiences and some worse ones, but I survived. Soon, I thrived but I had been afraid of what I was becoming. So, I developed a little code to keep myself on the straight and narrow. It's real simple," Jonah said before he smiled and little smile. It was a lot like a scimitar; curved and sharp.

"Raiders, rapists and slavers die. No exceptions," he said before he pulled out his gun.

The woman's eyes went wide, understanding what he was saying instantly. She opened her mouth to say something but she closed it. Only she opened it again a second later just so she could close it again. She floundered like a fish before her eyes drifted to the gun in his hand.

"That is a weapon," she realized, looking at him with half terrified half hopeful eyes.

"Yeah," he admitted, flicking the safety off. "I'm guessing you have a place that all of you go to when there's trouble. I'd advise you to go there now," he said,nodding at her. She stared at him at him in disbelief and Jonah almost thought she was going into shock but she slowly nodded her head.

"You're going to die," she said bluntly. It seems like he's going to have to work on his reputation as an unkillable god among men again.

"They keep telling me that but I'm not sure I believe them at this point," he said with, just smiling away. She didn't believe him, didn't believe that he would free her or that he would survive, but she did believe him that he was about to start a fight. Slowly, she turned away from him and brushed past another slave. She must have whispered something in her ear because the other slave gave him a sharp look.

Jonah watched the girls work their magic and in minutes, just about every girl looked at him with cautiously guarded hope. Judging by the lack of any guards or the killers in the building confronting him, they only told the ones that were willing to seize their freedom. Then the woman from before approached him again.

She gripped his hand a pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek before squeezing his hand. "Who are you," she asked, pulling away.

"Jonah Wick, but most know me as the Lone Wander or Messiah." He answered easily, "what's your name, doll?"

"Charlotte. My name is Charlotte," Charlotte answered, giving him a smile. It wasn't the well practiced fake one from before and it was enough to light up a room. Once upon a time, if she aimed a smile like that at him then he would have fallen head over heels and blushed red enough a tato would be jealous. Now, however, he just nodded, a sign telling her to get to safety.

Charlotte gave him another peck on the cheek before she turned away from him, walking away with a sense of urgency that wasn't missed by the bartender. He called out to her in their language and quickly grew frustrated when she ignored him. However, his shouts of annoyance were quickly drowned out when the other slaves began pulling away from their customers. Most managed to placate them with a smile and showing a bit of leg, but it was impossible to miss that every slave was leaving.

With a perfect distraction, Jonah stood up and pointed his gun at the bartender, making him turn his annoyed shouts in his direction.

Jonah just smiled his wicked smile. His shit list was getting long again and he couldn't wait to start crossing out names.

There were better ways of doing this, Jonah knew that. He didn't know what these people were packing or even how many of them there were. He knew nothing about the layout of the city nor did he know the factions that ran it. He didn't know and the best thing he could do was wait until he did. Do a little reconnaissance; map out the city, establish fall back positions and find allies in this foreign city. There was always the malcontent slaves just waiting for a chance to rebel and there were always going to be sympathetic slavers willing help them.

If he waited about a week then he would be in a much better position to do this.

However, what would happen in that week? How many pleasure slaves would be raped? How many men, women and children would be sold? How many families would be broken up? How many would be worked to death? How many would be killed because their Master willed it?

How many, how many, how many?

Jonah didn't know but the answer was too fucking many. And, as the Messiah, he wasn't going to turn a blind eye to rape and slavery just to make things a little bit easier on himself.

So, without any hesitation, he pulled the trigger and began his second slave revolt.


	2. Fighting the good fight

This chapter is coming to you a little early as a thank you for all the support for the story, both here and on Spacebattles. Hope you enjoy the second installment of The Messiah has come.

...

Jonah experienced more than a few gun fights in his time. In fact, if someone said that the past year was nothing but a very long one with the occasional lull, they wouldn't be wrong. So, it was almost puzzling when those in the building jumped and shouted when they heard the first gunshot of their lives. As the bartender's corpse hit the ground, Jonah turned around and let them hear their second. And third. And fourth and fifth and sixth and so on.

The slaves were gone already, vanishing into thin air for all he knew while the patrons that weren't killers were all but crawling over each other to get out of the door once they realized people were dying, all of them screaming incoherently. Jonah let them. Sleeping with someone that couldn't say no was a little too close to rape in his book but it didn't disqualify them from his 'you get to live' list. If it did, then he would have had to kill just about everyone in Megaton because Moriarty was blackmailing Nova into being a whore.

However, the ones that stood up and reached for their weapons? Those he killed. Maybe they didn't deserve it, after all, he did just walk into a bar and start killing people but...oh well? He couldn't exactly explain why the bartender deserved to die since that whole 'can't speak English' thing and he doubted that they would be willing to listen anyway. They were killers and most weren't as nice as he was, so Jonah was willing to bet that they deserved it.

So, with the precision of a surgeon, Jonah fired away. Each time he pulled the trigger a hole appeared in the center of each of his targets foreheads. The first few were like shooting fish in a barrel because the noise froze them solid. When they realized that whoever he pointed his gun at died, they were quick charge him.

Jonah fired two more times before he holstered his weapon as the closest one neared him. Taking a step forward, he leaned out of the way of the mace aimed for his head by an inch and the huge chunk of metal embedded itself into the wood of the counter. As splinters showered his back, Jonah grabbed the killers wrist with one hand while the other slammed into his throat. His throat collapsed into the shape of his hand, and Jonah stepped past him as he clutched it, gasping for air that couldn't pass through his crushed trachea.

That didn't seem to give the remaining few any hesitance because they attacked him at the same time. Drawing his sword, he gave it a little twirl for style before he blocked an overhand swing and forced the blade away from him. His attacker hadn't expected that if the fact that his sword flew free from his grip was anything to go by. Panicked, his hand went down to the knife in his belt, but he was too late to draw it.

Almost casually, Jonah slashed his sword across the man's stomach. Instantly, his hands dropped to the ground and the leather armor he was wearing parted like paper before his sword. As he sank to his knees, staring at his stumps like he couldn't just quite understand what had happened, Jonah gave him the small mercy of beheading him before he figured it out. The corpses fell over, and Jonah bounced the bloodied blade off his shoulder as he approached the last few.

Jonah wasn't a swordsman. He didn't deserve to be called as such when all he did was use brute force and just hacked away until the object of his frustrations lied in a messy pile. However, his body possessed a natural grace born of being greatly stronger than the average man. After a year of being exposed to radiation, his body mutated in ways that he still didn't fully understand. However, instead of developing cancer or even dropping dead, his DNA twisted and mutated in ways that only benefited him.

That's why he called them perks.

He was stronger, faster and smarter than just about everyone else. He evolved and adapted to the wasteland, his body mutating to give him the greatest chance at survival. The first few months were hard and he lost count of how many times he nearly died, either because he did something stupid or trouble found him. After those few months, though? Well...the wasteland had good reason for thinking he was an unkillable, unstoppable walking apocolypse with anger issues directed at those that deserved it. Towards the end of the year, after he went head to head and toe to toe with monsters like Behemoths and Deathclaw Alphas or the last remnants of the Enclave, he realized there just wasn't a challenge in it anymore.

That was why he stopped wearing his power armor everywhere. He had enough battery cells for him to never have to get out but there wasn't a point. He was tougher outside of the armor than he was in, not to mention it drastically cut down his time spent on repairing his equipment because it wasn't as tough as he was. He didn't need overkill weapons like the Fat Man or wear modified power armor to exterminate deathclaw nests or Mirlurck queens. They were just too cumbersome and utterly redundant because of what he was, what the wasteland turned him into.

So, fighting against of drunken mercenaries or whatever? Not much of a problem for him.

Jonah knew he was smiling as he approached, the sword bouncing off his shoulder and he knew he looked utterly terrifying. He knew because he practiced in the mirror and it paid off. They were scared. There was no way they weren't, but Jonah had to hand it to them, they had balls. It might have been the liquid courage that gave them the kick they needed, but they didn't turn around and run in the opposite direction. That was more than most could claim.

With a yell that was more to psych himself up than intimidate Jonah, one of them rushed him with his sword high overhead. Jonah bounced his sword off his shoulder one more time before he attacked at speeds the man couldn't hope to match. However, instead of striking his blade, Jonah sliced the man's arm off at the elbow before he switched the grip and plunged it into his neck.

They weren't drunk enough to not have a plan because the first guy had been a distraction because the moment Jonah plunged his blade into his neck, another ran towards him. His sword tried to skewer him through the heart, but with his free hand, Jonah batted the blade away while he took a step forward. Yanking his sword forward as well, when he came close, he dragged it across his attacker's throat while Jonah's free hand kept him from backing away.

Jonah felt the familiar spray of blood on his face and watching in cruel amusement as the last two mercenaries pissed themselves. One dropped to his knees while the other tried to run, but Jonah wasn't having that. His shit list was long, and he didn't have time to hunt this guy down. So, pulling his blade completely free, he threw it.

It struck him in the back, sliding through his chainmail like wet paper but he didn't fall because he was pinned to the wall. Jonah scanned the room, taking the overturned tables and the bodies that littered the floor. Blood was soaking the floorboards and Jonah pitied whoever was going to have to clean this up. Nearly twenty men had been killed in the brothel, so the stench of blood and shit was starting to overpower the smells of sex and alcohol.

With a sigh, he walked over to the last one and looked down at him for a moment. The guy was a couple of years older than him but still in his early twenties. It didn't seem like it because his eyes were wide open in shock and he was pale as a sheet. The guy said something to him, but Jonah didn't know what it was. Odds were it was the usual pleas for mercy, and he heard them often enough that he could guess what he had said.

Something, something family, they made me do it or blah, blah, blah.

So, Jonah took out his knife and plunged it into his temple and quickly yanked it out. He fell over dead before he even realized it. Wiping the blade clean on his shirt, which Jonah was going to come back for because it was a lot cleaner than anything he owned, he walked over to his sword and yanked it out of the pillar and the man. As he dropped to the ground, Jonah heard a gasp next to him and saw it was Charlotte.

She looked across the room with a slack jaw and then at him with the same expression. Jonah's wicked smile turned into a smug grin in response.

"Oh ye' of little faith, I told you, didn't I? Now, you know how you wanted to buy a boat?" He asked, and it took Charlotte a moment to remember how to nod. "Well, I'm not exactly sure how much money's worth here, but you're free to help yourself. Oh, in case I wasn't clear," he said, his smile becoming gentler in nature.

"You're free now. Go live out your dreams and send me the name of anyone that gets in your way. I'll, uh,...talk to them," Jonah said, giving her a gentle pat on the shoulder. What he didn't expect was for her to collapse. Her legs gave out from underneath her and she only barely managed to catch herself with a hand a table.

"Uhhh," Jonah said intelligently, "you okay?" He asked, squatting down to make eye contact. She shot his an incredulous look before she shook her head in disbelief.

"Yes. I am 'okay,'" she said, blinking away tears. "I am free. You...you freed me," she said quietly and Jonah gave her a lopsided grin as he straightened out.

"Not just you love," he corrected, making her look up at him. "I'm freeing everyone. All raiders, rapists and-" he began, but Charlotte finished for him.

"Slavers die without exception," she echoed, his code really sinking in. "Can you do that? Can you actually free everyone? Myr is a large city, filled with many, many slaves...the Masters will try to stop you. The guards-" Charlotte said, slowly starting to believe what he was saying. It wasn't an easy thing to believe that a single man was taking on the boot you lived your entire life under, much less believing that he could win that fight. However, as if she summoned them, the guards all but kicked down the door before stopping dead in their tracks at the sight of the bar.

"Hmm," Jonah hummed, "can I get a favor? How do you say my code in your language?" He asked, striding forward with confidence in his steps.

"Latrunculos omnes, sine exceptione, raptoribus et slavers," she said to his back and Jonah realized learning the local language was going to be a nightmare. Even still, he repeated the words to the guards even though he butchered the enunciation.

"Excellent. Now how do you say surrender now or die?" He asked as he neared. The guards were broken out of their trance, but their eyes show with fear even as they raised their swords to defend themselves. Jonah smiled as he stopped just outside of striking distance.

"Dedere, aut mori," Charlotte answered him, but she shouted the words at the guards, forcing herself back on two feet. Jonah's smile just got larger as they few men glanced at her, the corpses around them, between each other before finally settling back in him.

"So? What'll it be?" He asked them, though he knew they couldn't understand him. That didn't matter, though. Body language was universally known and his was just screaming 'I've taken bigger, badder and in greater numbers.' That message was heard loud and clear because one of them gulped audibly, to Jonah at least, before they shared another glance. Then, all at once, they dropped their weapons.

"Smart," he commented before he continued to the door and they parted for him like the sea. With his sword still bouncing on his shoulder, he exited the bar and saw that he was surrounded. Just over two dozen men stood in front of the brothel's entrance with spears pointed at him while others behind them aimed crossbows.

Behind them was the largest crowd he had ever seen. There had to be hundreds of them at the very least. Odds were more people were standing in this marketplace than there were left in Capital Wasteland. They all had two things in common, Jonah noticed; they all were standing on the tips of their toes to get a good look at the commotion and just about every single one of them had a tattoo underneath their cheek.

It seemed that he was right about the firepower that they were packing. By that, he meant nothing. Apparently, he did have the only gun in this city.

"This is almost going to be too easy," he mused to himself. Should he just stick with the sword? Give them a sporting chance? Jonah chuckled at the thought before his hand dipped down to his gun. In response, the archers fired...and, Jonah didn't move.

One bolt hit him in the forehead, but it bounced off thanks to his thick skull. Two bolts struck him in the chest, piercing his kevlar armor and his skin while another got him in the stomach. Another two flew over his shoulders but three separate bolts hit him in one arm, and one more got him in the wrist of his sword hand. The final bolt got him just above the kneecap, making Jonah frown as he glanced down. He looked like a pincushion. Silence reigned as he checked out his new wounds, small dabs of blood seeping around where the arrows struck him.

Okay. That hadn't gone how he imagined it in his head. How he pictured it going down was the arrows bouncing off his skin, since they're _arrows_ , then giving them a patronizing grin before he launched into a speech about how under no circumstance should they ever fuck with him. Apparently, his skin wasn't tough enough to deflect pointy sticks launched at him. Mildly disappointing but he could work with this.

Letting out a big sigh, he made a show of rolling his eyes before he rubbed where the skin tore on his forehead, smudging the little blood that came from the wound before he felt it itch. It took a long moment, and Jonah idly wondered why they hadn't shot him again. Stealing a glance at the archers, he saw them reloading. Wow...it really was a whole thing just to reload one arrow.

After clearing the blood from the wound, Jonah heard a gasp come from the crowd as they watched in amazement as his skin twisted and mended itself until the wound vanished entirely. He had a little more plant DNA in him than normal because just a little sunlight could heal him up as good as new.

Wiping his fingers on his pants, so they were free of blood, he took a step forward as he yanked an arrow out of his chest, earning another gasp from the crowd. "There's no real point in me giving a grand speech since I'm guessing almost none of you speak English buuuuutttt," he said, pulling an arrow from him with each step that he took, smiling his wicked smile. "I will say this," he continued as he came to a stop.

No one in the marketplace said so much as a word and it was for that reason that his gunshots sounded so impossibly loud, making them all recoil as half of the guards dropped dead. Their arrows may have penetrated his kevlar and his skin that wasn't as tough as he thought but he managed to pierce their steel helmets with his least powerful gun. So, who was the real winner of this pissing contest?

"Latrunculos omnes, sine exceptione, raptoribus et slavers," Jonah yelled out, pointing his bloodied sword at the remaining guards, his voice echoing through the quiet city. That quiet city remained silent, and just when Jonah began to wonder if he had messed up the enunciation, the slaves began sharing a look between each other. All they needed was one little push, and Jonah knew just how to give it to them.

Almost casually, he walked towards the remaining spearmen. These guys were a different breed than the ones he ran into before. Their leather armor was a flat black, and they hadn't even flinched when Jonah fired off his gun. No, whoever these guys were, he wasn't going to scare them into backing down. That was all right. He needed to make an example of them.

Holstering his gun again, both because he didn't want to use it for this and because it would have looked a little awkward if he reloaded it with one hand, and Jonah's hand dipped into his pocket for his knuckledusters. On second thought, he sheathed his sword as well and put on another pair.

"Well? Let's get on with it," Jonah said, giving the universal motion for 'come get some.' In response the guards ran forward, Jonah grabbed the first spear just below the head and gave it a savage yank. Because of his inhuman strength, and the guard wasn't expecting it, the man was thrown forward. Jonah followed through by landing a punch in his throat, crushing it, while he grabbed the second spear.

He took a step forward, and he saw the man's eyes widen as he realized that his friend had just been killed. Still grabbing the spear, Jonah threw another punch, and it caught the man right on the side of the head. Even the man's helmet couldn't stop the force of the blow; the side crumpled like a piece of paper, and a clear indentation of where his knuckle dusters had landed could be seen. The man fell over dead, blood and brains leaking out of his shattered skull.

However, Jonah wasn't done. He held onto the spear and gave a quick turn, building momentum. As the turn ended, he threw the long spear. Its flight was short because it crashed into the third guards open and screaming mouth. However, it didn't stop there, most of it sailed through, knocking off his helmet, and into one of the guards that stayed back to wait for an opportunity to strike. Both men fell dead where they stood, connected by a spear.

The fourth guard hesitated as he ran forward. A slight pause, reconsidering if he should be fighting a man that had killed four of his comrades in two seconds. It cost him his life.

Jonah took a quick step forward and raised his foot before he kicked the man's kneecap. Jonah barely felt resistance as the man's leg gave way, bending at an unnatural angle. As the man fell forward, his leg no longer supporting him, Jonah placed both hands on the sides of his head and gave it a quick yank. A loud snap was heard as the man's head did a complete 180.

As he fell, Jonah walked forward. No one knew how to react. In seconds, the guard's numbers had been cut in less than half. Five laid dead and now only four more remained.

Now that was the point he was trying to make.

The guards regrouped, falling in line with each other but they stood their ground instead of throwing themselves at him. Whoever they were, they had been trained. Jonah stopped a couple of feet away from one of their spears and planted his bloodied hands on his hips.

"Latrunculos omnes, sine exceptione, raptoribus et slavers," Jonah yelled out again, and this time, he got a reaction from the crowd. They screamed in response all at once, throwing their fists in the air and the tension in the marketplace was electric. They moved forward like a solid wall of people, years, decades even, of resentment and hate finally bubbled to the surface because Jonah lite a fire in them.

He showed them that they could be beaten and he showed them that he couldn't. All that restrained them, all the reasons that they kept themselves in check either out of fear for themselves or for another faded into nothing because that fear was gone. It was replaced with the certainty and the passion for their freedom was theirs again.

The four guards went back to back, knowing that the crowd of free men and women were now the threat, but it was a token effort. They knew they were dead as a crowd-no, a horde of people streamed past him and attacked. The ex-slaves ripped into them, beating them with their fists and kicking them before Jonah lost sight of the four underneath a swarm of people. They brushed past him, all of them chanting his words but Jonah didn't think they knew what they meant.

With a sigh, he scooped up a spear with a foot and kicked it up into his hand. He shoved it into the hands of one of the larger looking ex-slaves, one with hammers on his cheek. That seemed to click something in others minds because they began grabbing and fighting over the few weapons. Jonah let them in favor of climbing the steps and saw Charlotte watching the scene with her lips pressed into a grim line.

Jonah looked over his shoulder and saw some guy waving a leg around, laughing uproariously, so he kinda got why. She said something to him, but it was drowned out by all the noise and the chanting, which was only growing louder as more slave heard the words and joined in the riot. Before long, it would sweep the entire city, so Jonah didn't have much time to act.

He walked past her and into the bar, spotting his bag next to his chair. Charlotte followed him, trying to get his attention but he pulled out his anti-material rifle from it before slinging the bag over his shoulder. With that done, he pulled Charlotte close and yelled something in her ear because if he didn't, then she wouldn't be able to hear him.

Pulling back, he saw her nod as her eyes hardened with resolve. She followed him out of the building, smoothing out her 'dress' and Jonah could swear that the riot was even larger than it had been mere seconds ago. The marketplace was a giant mosh pit of violence and incoherent screaming, but Jonah could see that it was expanding down the streets.

In the three and a half seconds, more people had been killed because people were dancing with heads in hand while others cheered them on. Jonah saw that the heads didn't have a tattoo underneath their cheek so at least the ex-slaves weren't killing their own. Yet.

Taking his anti-material rifle, Jonah fired into the air. The first time Jonah had shot the thing, he nearly went deaf, and he was knocked on his ass from the sheer recoil of the powerful rifle. Even then, his ears rang for days. So, when the gun fired, the only thing they could have compared it to was thunder that drowned out their chantings and screams. The echo of the weapon persisted for a moment and, in an instant, all the eyes snapped to him.

"All raiders, rapists, and slavers die. Without exception," he yelled out, and Charlotte took a deep breath before she repeated his words as loud as she could. A cheer started to go up, but Jonah fired again, silencing them and making them recoil. He saw Charlotte flinch at the sound now that she, they, didn't have hundreds of voices taking the edge off.

"Free people of Myr, that rule is absolute for me. There will be no forgiveness nor mercy from me to those that break it. You are all now free, free to make your own choices and decisions. Rape and raid this city if that is your will. You have the _choice_ to do so. However, if you do, you will die by my hand alongside the Masters of Myr," he yelled out, and the effect was immediate.

While there was still some rioting going outside of where his voice could reach, the hundreds of people before him suddenly looked frightened. That was incredible in its own because the only outnumbered him a couple hundred to one. However, Jonah was glad for it. Fear was a double-edged weapon, but it had its uses.

"Now, who wants to see what the inside of the palace looks like?" He asked, and the roar of the crowd was deafening when Charlotte translated his words. With that, he walked down the steps with Charlotte in tow and the crowd parted for him. Lightly, they brushed their hands on him as he passed, which played havoc on his instincts to pull out a gun and start firing away. Since that wouldn't exactly be helpful for the image, he was creating. So, Jonah gritted his teeth and kept his itchy trigger fingers in check.

Thankfully, Charlotte grabbed onto his arm and whispered directions to the palace into his ear, so he didn't end up getting lost. That would be very embarrassing. The rebels began following behind him, and Jonah couldn't hear the sound of breaking glass or utter chaos, so he figured that his words got through to them. Though, he knew that he was going to have to deal with others since they probably didn't get the memo.

Jonah sighed as he began marching up a set of stairs that lead to what seemed like the tallest point in the city, wondering how many ex-slaves he was going to have to kill by the end of this. He saw it in the Pitt when slaves ODed on freedom and he wasn't going to have a repeat of that mess. Once he was half way, he glanced to the side of him, and his feet nearly froze midstep.

"How big is this city?" Jonah asked himself, slowly climbing higher and revealing more and more of the skyline. It didn't stretch on for as far as the eye could see but the city was absolutely massive. Megaton, Big Town, Rivet City and even the Citadel could all squeeze into the city...no. That comparison didn't begin to cover just how huge the city was. All of downtown D.C. Could fit in the city of Myr. Easily.

"I don't know how large, but one of my clients said that the last census said there were nearly four hundred thousand people living here," Charlotte said, and this time Jonah sent her the disbelieving look. Instantly, her eyes darted to the ground. "That is what he said, -" she started, but Jonah shook his head, but she couldn't see that since she found the stairs so very interesting.

"I believe you. I just don't believe it," Jonah said, never looking away from the skyline. Four hundred thousand people, huh? That was…what, a couple thousand times the number of people in the Capital Wasteland all together? There weren't even four thousand people in Capital Wasteland, and that was counting everyone before his purge.

Almost as his gaze was drawn to it, Jonah glanced over his shoulder and saw just how many people were following him. Most of them weren't armed, but the few that were following directly behind him like some honor guard. However, what really caught his attention was that there were hundreds following him up the steps, but he could see hundreds more spreading his code and the rebellion.

From here, while Jonah couldn't see everything, he saw some fighting on the fringes of the crowd. He could see a few clashes between some guards, though they weren't those guys in black armor, and he saw the ex-slaves winning simply because they outnumbered the guards. They were pyrrhic victories, the guards killing at least one for every one of them that fell because the guards had swords and the rebels didn't. However, the rebels just threw themselves at the guards, screaming his code as their final words and clawed at them until they overcame the odds.

The process repeated. The surviving rebels picked up the weapons, though they had no idea how to use them, and searched for more masters to kill.

Chaos described it perfectly. The guards were having a mad scramble trying to figure out what the fuck was going on because the slaves were rebelling out of nowhere while the slaves were a disorganized mess just trying to kill every master they could get their hands on.

"We need to hurry it up," Jonah said, taking two steps at a time now. "Our guys are going to get slaughtered if the masters get a chance to organize," he said, frowning at the idea. The reason they were winning now was because of how sudden the revolt was and how quickly it was growing. It had been barely ten minutes since it began but the movement was gaining momentum rapidly.

Jonah didn't think he had every slave fighting for their freedom in the city yet, but he had most of them around the marketplace thanks to a lovely thing called mob mentality. His code was becoming a rallying cry and it was growing louder and louder with every voice that shouted it. The other slaves that hadn't been there for his little display but they heard the words and they heard the violence. They may not act instantly but when his crowd, his followers, spread than most would seize the chance.

This entire rebellion hinged on the revolt growing too big before the masters could mount a proper defense. Once they did, the rebels would get mowed down.

Which was why he was marching up these steps. After all, it would be very hard for them to organize a defense after he killed their leaders, now wouldn't it?

Charlotte took it upon herself to say something to the horde of followers that he had. What she said, he didn't exactly know, but it riled them up. Just in time for a wall of guards to appear at the top of the steps. Spearmen filed down the steps, securing the high ground but, with practiced ease, Jonah swung his Chinese assault rifle at the ready and began firing. The crowd roared in response, drowning out the gunfire as the guards began falling down the stairs dead. They just weren't prepared for the firepower he was packing. Their leather armor did nothing to stop his bullets, and they reacted like B-class Pre War movie actors as gunfire tore through them. Jonah emptied his clip, clearing the way and stepped over their corpses as he reached the peak.

Jonah looked to the right and saw a palace. There really wasn't any other way to describe it. It was easily the size of the citadel, but it couldn't be more different in shape. Whereas the citadel had been nothing but dull tall walls, the building in front of him was nothing but curves. Most of it was white, just like everything else in this city but there was golden trimming in artistic designs along the giant pillars and dome-like roof. It was bigger too. It was at least thirty stories tall, making it the largest still standing building he had ever seen, but it seemed so much bigger.

It was breathtakingly beautiful. His entire life had been nothing but dull gray walls then the wasteland. This...this drove it home that he wasn't in the wasteland anymore. The people aside, this place was alive and prosperous. This place...a place like this would be a paradise for a wastelander.

"And you just had to fuck that up for me," Jonah said as he popped another magazine into his gun as he strode forward to the hundreds of guards gathering in front of the palace. Oh, he was in over his head. Jonah knew that. This was playing at scales he didn't know still existed. This wasn't wiping out a particularly powerful raider gang. This wasn't killing the slavers at Paradise Falls. This wasn't even wiping out the last of the supermutants in DC.

This...this was taking on an actual army. This was tearing down a _real_ nation.

Jonah was in over his head, yet, he couldn't be happier.

For weeks he felt like he was losing his purpose in the Capital Wasteland. His shit list was all but empty, and there were no problems that needed to be solved. He had drifted around, looking for something, anything, to occupy him.

Now, though? He was covered in blood, surrounded by hostiles and fighting the good fight.

It was good to be home again.


	3. The heads of the snake

Jonah didn't know much about tactics or even strategy outside of taking the high ground, spotting decent vantage points or using ambushes. There just wasn't ever a real need to.

Jonah always fought alone. There had been a few that followed him in the wasteland but they quickly learned that he had a habit of throwing himself head first into dangerous situations. So, he understood when they decided to go their separate way. They were right when they thought they would have died following him.

Because of that, Jonah didn't really have any experience fighting with a horde of people at his back. Or fighting people that numbered more than fifty at once much less a small army that was in position to defend the palace. There were spearman, or were they pikes? Either way, there were a lot of them lined up in front of the palace, all of them scrambling to get in formation. Behind them were more archers that stood on the steps that lead to huge double doors. It looked impressive, Jonah had to give them that. It looked a lot better than the unwashed rebels at his back, who only had a handful of weapons between them. However, Jonah could adapt if nothing else and adapt he did.

"How far can their archers reach," he asked Charlotte as he swung his duffle bag over his shoulder. They weren't shooting at them yet, even though there were more and more rebels joining them. Jonah figured it had to be because of the reach since they had abandoned the only way up to the palace and they weren't pushing them back down the stairs.

"I do not know for certain, but three hundred feet? I apologize but I don't know much of military matters. I am a woman after all," she added and Jonah wondered what that had to do with anything as he pulled out a couple dozen hand grenades and some string. He looked at the army, making sure that they weren't approaching, before he began feeding the string through the pins.

It seemed a little flimsy, which wouldn't suit his needs, so he tied small knots on both sides of each pin to put some space between each grenade. Then he grabbed some duct tape and taped the LUG own so the pin could be removed…'safely.'

"Don't worry about it. Just tell me if they start moving forward or start shooting, okay?" He asked and saw Charlotte stare at the opposing army, unblinking. She was dedicated, Jonah gave her that.

"It's probably a bit late for this, but do you know of any slaves that had already been plotting to rebel? Or anyone else that's going to jump at the chance to kill the masters?" Jonah asked as he grabbed more hand grenades and more string. He heard his horde of rebels expand, some eagerly talking amongst each other while others hurled insults to the slavers. However, when he looked down the front line, he saw disturbingly few weapons in their hands.

He was really going to have to soften them up before the rebels fought them.

Charlotte thought about it for a moment, "the fighting slaves will and they have access to weapons. I would imagine they would be useful since they have plenty of experience fighting," she said and Jonah thought she was trying just a little too hard to sound smart. He noticed it since they left the brothel but Jonah just gave a mental shrug and didn't comment on it.

"Neat. While I'm dealing with this lot, get someone to send a message to their leader. Ask them to come here so we can plan our next attack before night comes," Jonah said, finishing off the second frag grenade chain. He grabbed the other one and coiled it into a loose loop.

"Of course. I will also search for those were already plotting to rebel," Charlotte added, finally looking away from the army when Jonah stepped forward. Jonah scanned the army, looking for some obvious weak point but he just wasn't seeing one. They stood in front of the palace in a huge seamless line with the archers in several rows, each one standing a stair higher than the one before them.

"Thanks. Also, you know how you wanted to see a great battle?" Jonah asked as he stuffed his pockets with a few 5.56 magazines and a extra one for his pistol.

"As if I could forget," Charlotte said, her tone sounding faintly amused despite herself.

"Well, I think you're about to see one. Take this," Jonah said, handing his bag to her but she was struggling to keep it up before he even let go. Right. He sometimes forgot how heavy it was to non-ridiculously mutated people. Instead, he handed it to the huge guy that he gave the spear to and he managed to hold it up. Though, it did look like he was struggling a little bit.

"Go to that ridge over there," he said, pointing at a small section off to the side that had some kind of pavilion on it. "You should get a pretty good view of the city and the battle. Oh," he added, flashing a grin, "be sure to get my good side." He said, giving her a wink.

Charlotte looked stunned before a gentle but fiercely proud smile. "You can count on me," she said, nodding resolutely.

"I know I can. Oh, one more thing. Tell everyone to charge when I give the signal and tell this lug to make sure nothing happens to you," he said as he strode forward to meet the army.

"What's the signal," Charlotte called out at him, making him glance over his shoulder with a smile.

"You'll know it when it happens," Jonah said, turning back around and continuing forward. The horde of rebels quieted down as they saw him walk forward, trading looks to figure out if anyone knew if they were supposed to follow him.

However, Jonah ignored that in favor of coming to a stop a couple hundred feet away from the army when he heard the sound of over a hundred thumping strings at once. He took a few hasty steps back and to the side when he heard the sound, not wanting to turn into a pincushion yet again. Thankfully, he hadn't needed to because most of the arrows fell short. Some bounce off near his feet but it seems he found the limit of their range.

Jonah pinched the ends of the string tightly and silently hoped he didn't mess this up because he would look really stupid in front of a lot of people if he did. However, when he whipped his arm to the side, the pins tugged free at the apex of the swing before the grenades themselves sailed towards the army.

There were some shouts as the grenades smacked some people where their armor didn't cover but that was quickly drowned out when the grenades exploded. Jonah saw some bodies fly up from the force of the grenades but Jonah saw more people knocked off their feet. A hole opened up in the front line and those that fell didn't get back up. However, Jonah watched in dull amazement as the hole was closed all but instantly by those in the back rank.

'They're organized,' Jonah thought to himself. That was Brotherhood level of teamwork right there. That was not a good sign. Jonah looked behind him when he heard the sudden sound of marching feet and saw that his horde responded to the signal.

Letting out a sigh, Jonah pulled out his assault rifle again and began charging with them. His other string of grenades dangled from his fingers as he fired while running towards the army. He was focusing his fire in a narrow rows, trying to cut a path to the archers, knowing that they were going to be an issue if they couldn't break through. They dropped like flies as Jonah emptied his magazine before ejecting it and popping in another one.

Jonah kept firing until he saw the white of their eyes. They held strong and their spears never wavered, but that didn't matter when he slung his next load of grenades. He didn't go high this time but instead aimed them at the army's feet, intending to weaken the front line. Jonah looked at one in particular as the man glanced down at the grenade that underneath his feet. He hesitated before he looked away, turning to those behind him and, even through the screaming of the hundreds behind him, Jonah heard the man say something.

Odds were he was screaming that they throw the grenade back and Jonah saw some movement to do so behind him to do exactly that. However, they were just too tightly compacted to find it easily and the time they should have spent spreading out was used to search for the grenade. The man managed to look back at Jonah with wide eyes a mere moment before the grenades exploded.

Jonah hadn't managed to spread out the grenades perfectly but along the frontline the grenades exploded and punched holes in their line. The spearmen in the back tried to rush forward and the archers let off a volley if the fact that two bolts slammed into his chest were anything to go by. However, Jonah fired away until he slammed into the line and the horde behind him did as well moments later.

As archers let off their volley, dozens fell at the front but the horde just ran right over them, trampling them to death if the arrows hadn't killed them. A clash unlike anything Jonah had ever heard before when the horde and the army met. Hundreds of bodies slammed into each other, screaming and yelling, stabbing and beating with their fists and rocks. It was just noise of hundreds of people, maybe a thousand, just fighting.

The screams of the dead and dying could barely be heard, even as Jonah cut a bloody path through the spearman's line. There were just so many people screaming; some shouting his code, other screaming in their native language, others were screaming a war cry to scare the enemy and to hide how scared they were.

The slave were ill-equipped, if at all, but there was a feverish passion that pushed them forward. The desire for freedom and seeing what he did drove them forward and the slavers just hadn't been prepared for it. It also didn't help that they were experiencing a nasty case of shock from seeing dozens of their allies die before the battle even began in ways they hadn't ever seen before.

Jonah grabbed one spear aimed for his neck below the head of the spear and jerked it to the side so it stabbed a soldier behind him before he retaliated by punching his attacker in the throat. His knuckleduster crushed it and as he withdrew his fist, he used it to block a swing from a sword aimed at his collarbone. With the knife in his other hand, he plunged it into the second soldier's throat and yanked it out in a spray of blood.

The spray blinded the soldier next to the one that Jonah just killed so he seized the opportunity and stabbed him in the throat as well. He was going for the kill every time but they were wearing armor and stab wounds to the gut could take a little while. The neck was unguarded, even though it's just a web of important veins and arteries. The soldier clutched his throat, dropping his spear and Jonah scooped it up with one hand and tossed it back to a rebel behind him.

The smell of blood was just overwhelming. Jonah was no stranger to the smells of death; blood, shit and rotting flesh, but it was almost overwhelming now to his heightened senses. His shirt was already soaked because he got in close to make their spears and swords ineffective. Jonah didn't even know how many he had already killed but his guess was on a lot.

However, Jonah kept pushing forward, trying to break through their line to both cut the army in half and to get at the archers that rained down arrows on them. Jonah hadn't thought to count how many the army must have and he couldn't have with his horde, but Jonah guessed that the rebels outnumbered the army a little bit.

Jonah knew battles though, and he knew that if it kept up like this than the rebellion would be short lived. The soldiers had way better equipment and the experience. If Jonah didn't turn the tide then the rebels were going to be slaughtered.

Knowing that time wasn't on his side, Jonah kicked one soldier in the stomach and sent him sprawling back into the other behind him, making them lose their balance. Jonah pulled out his pistol, silently cursing that he was just burning through ammo, before he began firing and pushing forward. He shot the soldier he kicked in the head and the few behind him but the soldier began pushing back.

Jonah hissed a curse when he felt a spear stab him in the back of the knee but the blade failed to sink more than the tip of the blade in. There just wasn't enough room in the sea of people to get a good thrust in and his muscles were denser than normal. Didn't mean he didn't find it unpleasant though. He responded by swinging his hand back and braining the soldier with a backhand with brass knuckles before he punched another hard enough that their cheekbone and jaw shattered. He slashed his blade across someone's throat, spraying more blood on him before he plunged it into someone else's chest.

Another blade slashed at his side, cutting at his shirt but his kevlar protected his button down. Jonah responded by firing a bullet into his head before stabbing his friend. Jonah heard a war cry in his ear and glanced over in time to see a spear being thrust into his gut but Jonah turned to the side so that his missed him and plunged into another soldier.

However, Jonah grabbed the shaft of the spear and thrust it forward and heard a death wail as the stabbed soldier became skewered and connected to another soldier behind him by the spear. Letting go of the spear, Jonah stabbed the soldier that tried to stab him underneath the chin before he shoved the body in the direction of the other soldiers trying to force him back.

Jonah just sighed in annoyance before he fired until his pistol ran empty. After pistol whipping someone, he shoved it back into his holster and stabbed another soldier in the throat. Expecting to have to stab another soldier, his knife was at the ready but he saw the most amazing thing.

Jonah saw the archers.

The bad thing was that they saw him too. One of them let out a panicked shout, drawing the attention of others near him, before he fired his crossbow at Jonah. In response to that, Jonah grabbed one of the spearmen and used him as a meatshield, the arrows slamming into the soldier with no small amount of force. However, out of the corner of his eye, Jonah saw that some arrows missed and slammed into the backs of soldiers around him.

Oh, how he loved friendly fire.

Wishing that he brought more ammo, Jonah awkwardly pulled his rifle from his shoulder and held it with one hand. Thanks to his superior strength, his issue wasn't stability or recoil but it felt uncomfortable. Walking up the steps, Jonah fired, taking great care to make sure that not a single bullet was wasted. Every time he pulled the trigger, one of the archers fell dead.

Some of the spearmen must have heard the noise because they broke from the line to chase him down but that proved to be the worst thing they could have done. Not only were a few more shot in the back thanks to friendly fire when the archers tried to kill him again, but Jonah was standing above the battle now and the horde saw him. They saw their leader, the Messiah, already broke through the line and was laying waste to the enemy.

With a scream, the horde surged forward. The line was already uneven and fractured thanks to Jonah's grenades, him carving a bloody path through the army and the fact that the rebels were just throwing themselves at the soldiers but when they saw Jonah, they pressed harder. When the soldier pulled off to engage him, they weakened their already weakened line and the horde broke through it.

When Jonah heard the cry, he watched in dull amazement as the horde pushed through the path that he cut along with a few other places they had pushed into. Like a wave crashing into a sandcastle, the horde swept over the army, separating them into pockets while others streamed into the archers.

Throwing his meatshield to the side, Jonah grinned as he pressed the attack to the archers. They managed to get one last volley off, slaying dozens of his rebels, but more took their place and with another clash, the horde swept over the archers. They weren't nearly as compacted and their footing was awkward. It didn't take much to topple them over and to drag them down.

Jonah pulled out his last magazine for his assault rifle before he gestured for others to grab the crossbows. "Fire at the center," he yelled out, not knowing if any of them understood him. However, he fired off into the center of the pockets of soldiers, making sure that he didn't hit any rebels. The rebels seems to catch on quickly because they were trying to copy him.

Jonah didn't know how long the battle had raged but it couldn't have been too long. The sun was still high in the sky, so it had to still be near noon, but Jonah was strangely exhausted. As the pockets began to collapse on themselves, Jonah could only wonder how many people he had killed today. Counting the ones at the bar and now this battle?

'I have to be pushing a hundred. At least,' Jonah thought, firing until his assault rifle clicked empty. That was...that was a lot of people and a lot of killing. He didn't regret that, not in the slightest, but before the only occasions that his kill count pushed the triple digits in a single day was when he wiped out Paradise Falls or Evergreen Mills or the battle for the water purifier.

This...this was a lot of killing.

'I burnt through so much ammo,' he mused to himself, cutting an archer's throat as he approached the top of the steps. He needed to start conserving it now that it was all but confirmed that the place didn't have any guns, thus meaning that there wasn't going to be any ammo he could loot. Those crossbows packed a serious punch but that reload time as a deal breaker.

Jonah had a lot of ammo, like a lot. Ammo was one of the things he never stored away in one of his caches because he knew that he needed ever bullet he could get. However, he didn't know how long he was going to be here and he didn't know if he could make more. The modern bullet didn't use black powder and Jonah didn't think that the medieval times could recreate gunpowder. Even if they could, Jonah didn't think it would be a setup that he could use on the road.

After punching another archer in the face, Jonah stood atop of the stairs and watched as the rebels began mopping up the last of the soldiers. Throughout the battle, Jonah saw that the rebels began picking up weapons from the dead soldiers so now there were more that weren't using rocks as a weapon, which was nice to see. All of them looked like crap though; either blood was soaking them to the bone, like him, or they took some serious injuries.

As the last pocket got crushed underneath a barrage of thrusts from spears and arrows from above, the rebels let out a victory yell and Jonah couldn't stop himself from joining. That had been an experience and a half! It took a few seconds for it to quiet down and Jonah noticed that they were all looking at him expectantly. It took a few more seconds to realize that they wanted him to say something. Maybe a speech or whatever.

"Spare the children to be judged," Jonah said loudly, thinking that this was going to be his only chance to get that message out. It was going to be too late for some kids and that...that made Jonah feel sick to his stomach but Jonah understood that this was a revolt. There was always going to be some collateral damage and the only thing he could do was try to minimize that as much as he could.

Jonah was too late for some but he could save the many, even if some of them would be executed at a later date.

The crowd roared it's approval and Jonah honestly didn't know if they were doing it just because he said something or they actually understood. Either way, with a large sweeping motion for dramatic effect, he bowed and gestured for them to enter the palace. Cheering, they did so and they ran past him and pushed open the heavy doors before they began pouring inside.

However, Jonah didn't follow in favor waving at Charlotte.

Even though she was fairly out of the way, Jonah was relieved to see that she hadn't been injured during the fighting. However, Jonah also noticed that there was blood on the spear in the hands of the guy he sent to protect Charlotte. It was as they neared that Jonah noticed that Charlotte looked ashen and slightly sick. Especially when she neared the piles of bodies at the base of the stairs.

It...well, at the base of the stairs were hundreds of dead bodies. There just wasn't another way to say it. They were stacked higher in some places and others were compiled more of the rebels than the soldiers and vice versa. And that entailed everything that Jonah thought it would. The stench of blood and shit was heavy enough that he could taste it.

However, she persevered and stepped over, and sometimes on, the corpses as she approached with her guard right next to her.

"Ran into some trouble," Jonah asked, sitting down on the steps and reaching into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. He didn't smoke often but he did on the occasion and this deserved to be one of them. A frown tugged at his lips as he felt it damp with blood and he let out a long sigh as the cigarettes themselves were soaked through. That was annoying.

"Yes...some of the guards tried to flee but Alim killed them if they came too close," she explained as Jonah tossed the pack to the side and reached out to take his bag back. Alim tried to hide it, but Jonah heard the small groan of relief when Jonah took the bag and threw it back on his shoulders. It was heavy, just over four hundred pounds. If it wasn't for the fact that it was made of ballistic weave, then the bag would have ripped long ago considering just how much crap he had in it.

"Good man," Jonah had, giving him a pat on the shoulder since probably didn't speak his language but the guy's spine straightened up and it was only then did Jonah really notice that the guy was a giant. After killing so many super mutants and the like, things like height just went right over Jonah's head but Alim was tall for an unmutated human. Alim gave him a nod, telling him that he got the message.

"But, I'm guessing that wasn't the only problem," Jonah observed, watching as Charlotte's lips twisted into a frown and she glanced at the bodies on reflex. If her skin was so naturally tanned, Jonah was sure she would have turned green at the grizzly sight. Letting out a sigh, he nodded, "It's never how they make it sound in the stories, huh?"

"I...no. In Myr, as a whore, I served many mercenaries and all they would do was talk about the battles they fought in. Many of them lied, most of them did, but some spoke truth. When they talked about the battle of The Gray and Gold, when the Golden Company fought against the Windblown...I...this isn't how I imagined it. This is...this is not what the songs and bards sing of." Charlotte said, looking down at her feet.

"Yeah, no one ever talks about how much war sucks. Movies never show the husbands and wives who cheat on their spouse that's fighting the good fight or how much killing another person can fuck you up in the head. Why would they? If people knew how awful war was then no one would fight them and what would we humans do when we aren't killing each other," Jonah said, feeling oddly philosophical.

He grew up with propaganda about the Great War being shoved down his throat, even if he did just throw it right back up. How America was fighting the good fight against the communists and how America was the greatest nation on earth. He saw the movies and he sang along with the songs.

Not that it mattered anymore. The world blew itself up with nukes, and he wasn't even in the wasteland.

"Did it...er, mess you up? In the head," Charlotte asked, almost cautiously. Jonah pursed his lips in thought, glancing up at the bright blue sky to buy himself some time to think, though he knew the answer.

"Some more than others, but yeah, it did. Especially in the beginning," Jonah admitted with a shrug. Nothing could have prepared him for his first kill. Growing up in the vault, as much as it sucked, had been safe. The very idea of killing someone had just been foreign to him all of his life. Enough so that he had gone out of his way to avoid it even as the security guards had been out for his blood. It hadn't been until he left the vault that he realized that you pick you when it comes to you or the other guy.

Jonah looked down from the sky just in time to see Charlotte open her mouth to ask another question but he cut her off by jerking his head to the doors.

"Come on, let's go see what the upper crust has for us," he said, turning away but he heard her follow close behind. That was good. Jonah didn't know if the rebels had cleared out any resistance, if there was any, but between him and the big guy, Charlotte should be safe even in the middle of this war zone.

"Looks like they're listening to me," Jonah said as he examined the interior of the palace. They were in some kind of...ballroom? Jonah didn't know but it was huge. The ceiling stretched up for three stories, at least, and the interior was rich. Two great pillars with stylized markings from top to bottom depicted something but Jonah couldn't get over the fact that he was sure the marking were made of real gold. The stairs themselves were covered with a rug that Jonah was sure was made of silk and brightly colored with white, blue and gold.

The walls were just as rich. Large paintings covered them, showing things like the sea or a city surrounded by storm or, to Jonah's amusement, great battles. Everything was...disgustingly wealthy. Now, Jonah wasn't broke-well, he was now since caps were worthless again, but a disgusting amount of money went into making this place look as good as it did. The gestures of wealth were obscene and Jonah was sure there was more money in this room than he had ever owned.

However, he was able to observe these things because they were still there. Sure, a little blood was on them and some dirt but that never hurt anyone, now did it? Some of them even looked like they had been used to kill someone, which explained the few bodies littering the floor, but all in all, it looked like he wasn't going to have to execute any of the rebels so far. Good for them.

"Of course they listened to you, you are...you," Charlotte said lamely, making Jonah give a sage nod.

"Ah, that explains it," Jonah agreed and Charlotte must have thought he was making fun of her because she blushed. It was adorable. "Glad to have a little bit of my reputation back," he said, sending her a wink. She smiled but her blush didn't intensify. Probably because she was a prostitute, thus having a higher tolerance for flattery by men much more charming than him. Or maybe it was because he was covered in the blood of his enemies.

Thanks to his enhanced hearing, Jonah heard the footsteps before he saw a rebel turn a corner from upstairs and look down at him bug eyes. He seemed unsure of himself and Jonah watched him gulp, but he walked towards him before promptly dropping to a knee and speaking in his language. Jonah just looked at Charlotte with a eyebrow raised, a silent plea for a translation.

"He says that they have captured the Magisters of the city and they wait in the council room," Charlotte translated and Jonah felt faintly impressed. He had enough experience in these matters to guess that the Magisters ruled this city and, better yet, they were at his...mercy. Not only that, but the rebels had enough restraint that they captured the Magisters instead of killing them, which was fairly surprising considering the zeal they displayed earlier. Make that really surprising because Jonah fully expected them to be ripped to pieces before any of them thought to capture them

He had the heads of the snake in his hands and all he had to do was cut them off. The body would flail uselessly and, provided they pressed the advantage, die within a few days. Depending on how thorough the purge would be, there might not even be any lingering resistance to the new way of things. Mostly because those that wanted to cling to the old ways would catch a very violent case of death.

"Excellent. Let's go have a chat with them, shall we," Jonah said, giving the messenger a nod. In response, the messenger bowed his head but Jonah caught a glimpse of the smile on his face. He wasn't exactly sure why he was smiling, but that really wasn't important. Following the guy up the stairs they walked through the halls, passing by more than a few rebels and Jonah made sure to order them to search the palace for remaining masters or weapons.

After a few minutes of walking and Jonah knew if he didn't have his map function then he would have been lost, they came to another pair of double doors. The hallway leading up to it was littered with bodies and, to Jonah's displeasure, he noticed that most of them were rebel corpses. Jonah increased his pace towards the doors, not minding if he had to step on a body to do so, and he pushed the door open with a hand.

The instant he did so, a spear nearly planted itself into his throat. Jonah jerked his head to the side just fast enough to watch fly by his head but when he raised his fist to brain whoever was attacking him, he saw it was a rebel thats expression could only be described as regretful. His mouth was wide open and his eyes were filled with horror. It looked like if he could go back in time and change one thing, it would be stopping himself from nearly stabbing Jonah in the neck.

With a chuckle, Jonah gave him an approving nod, making his outpour of apologies stop before he could begin before he entered the room. Jonah spotted a few more bodies in the chamber and there were more of those guys in black armor but it seemed like once the rebels got in the room, the Magisters had more or less given up.

"Damn," Jonah said, looking down at the twelve men and one woman. They were dressed in silks, though that meant the carpet hadn't been silk, and enough jewelry Jonah could only imagine how annoying the clanking sound would be every time they moved. The woman had a large red ruby in a necklace that most have weighed five pounds. At least. The men weren't much better, though they wore thick gold and silver rings at each knuckle with large gems inside them.

Even their hair had gold in it. Claps made to look like a dragon clamping down to keep their hair out of their faces or they just tied expensive looking trinkets in. He thought the palace was throwing around disgusting amounts of money on looks but it had nothing on these guys and gal.

"Have they said anything," Jonah asked, striding to them. One tried to speak up in an angry tone, odds were demanding something or another. Jonah didn't really have the time, or the patience, to deal with that so he silenced the man with a boot to the face. The rest of the cried out in shock as the guy's nose was flattened but it was nothing compared to the Magister himself.

"Wow, you'd think I just gutted him with how he's wailing," Jonah commented and earned a surprising laugh from the rebels when Charlotte translated for him. However, Jonah ignored that in favor of kneeling down so that he was at eye level with one of them.

While the other was screaming his little head off, holding his broken nose, Jonah honed in on the only one that had any measure of strength in their eyes. The only one that didn't look away when he looked over the lot of them. The only one that dared to look back at him with contempt instead of cowering in fear.

"Who's this one?" Jonah asked, not looking away.

"She is the Magister of Slaves," Charlotte said with no small amount of venom in her voice.

"Huh, the Magister of Slaves," Jonah echoed before he shook his head. "You could be useful," he commented as he stood up. Not for the market she controlled, but she should be the one that would know all about who the suppliers were and, more importantly, where all the slave came from.

This, right here, was one of those times that he needed to make a decision that would seriously impact how this would all play out. Jonah experienced enough of them to recognize one of those decisions a mile away.

He could spare them for now. These were the upper crust, the leaders of this city. Without a single doubt, Jonah knew that they knew a thing or two that would catch his interest. Even then, it could be useful to keep them around because these people ran this city. Jonah had never been a leader, they called him the Lone Wanderer for a reason, so he couldn't even imagine what it took to run a city efficiently when it had hundreds of thousands of citizens.

However, how would that look to the rebels? He gave them his code, their fighting words, but he spares the Magisters. The upper crust. The people they blame for every bad thing that has ever happened to them.

Which brought Jonah to door number two. He just killed them and damn the consequences for the aftermath.

"Why choose," Jonah asked himself as he walked over to the fallen Magister. The man tried to get up, cursing at him through his blood covered hand that cradled his broken nose. Jonah ignored all of that. Instead of answering, he just raised his foot.

Then brought it down on the Magisters head. Very hard.

"Oh gods," Charlotte muttered as one other rebel emptied his stomach. The other Magisters were screaming in horror, even the Magister of Slaves. They all tried to get away from him, but the spears at their backs kept them from getting far.

"Charlotte, I know that was a little gross, but I need you to translate something for me," Jonah said, scraping brain matter off his boot on the headless corpse. He could only marvel at them because his sock was still dry as could be. The Old World might have blown itself up but no one could say that they didn't know how to make boots.

Thanks to that little display, they couldn't argue that he was going back on his word or making exceptions while letting the others live until they stopped being useful.

"I...yes. Whatever you need me to do, I will see to it," Charlotte said, swallowing down vomit.

"You are all going to die," Jonah started and one of the Magisters started crying the moment Charlotte translated that bit. "However, you all know things that I would find very interesting. Don't really have the time to get into it now, but I will say that we're going to have a very long talk before you die." He continued, stepping towards them.

"Now, I imagine that you all will be very reluctant to tell me every deep and dark secret you have, so I'm going to be very clear right here, right now." Jonah crouched back down in front of the Mother of Slaves and saw the defiance was gone from her eyes.

There was only fear now, as there should be.

"There are a lot of fates worse than death...and, if you try to escape, if you try to hide something, anything, from me...I'll personally make sure that you experience all of them before I put you out of your misery," Jonah said, his voice carefully flat.

Jonah met a lot of scary motherfuckers in the wasteland but the ones that really terrified him had been the ones that hadn't cared. Not when they were raping someone to death, not when they were disemboweling them with a ripper and not when they used their skull as a cup. All he had to do was copy their flat, uncaring gaze and talk about their deaths like he was discussing the weather.

Despite herself, tears slipped out of the Magister of Slave's eyes and down her cheeks. Jonah made sure to give her one last smile before he stood back up for the final time.

"As for the rest of you," Jonah said, turning his attention to the rebels in the room. "Find somewhere to put this lot and find me the slaves that worked underneath them. Oh," Jonah added, snapping his fingers as if he had forgotten something, "and loot the bodies out front. I want every rebel armed with something better than a rock. Armor to if you can make it work."

Charlotte translated for him and a cheer went up by the rebels. As they went to work, Jonah sighed as he threw himself in one of the chairs alongside his bag, which groaned underneath its weight.

"What shall we do now?" Charlotte asked, stepping forward and trying very hard not to look at the headless Magister.

"We dig in here and fan the flames everywhere else."


	4. Laying down the law

"Are you a god?" Charlotte blurted, making Jonah pause mid bite of his third apple. He glanced over at her, half expecting her to be smiling as if she were joking, but he saw nothing but a fiercely curious gaze that was trying to drill a hole in him.

He finished his bite, mostly to draw out the suspense and because the red fruit was the best things he's eaten in his entire life. Everything in the vault had been two hundred years old and tasted of nothing but preservatives while everything in the wasteland had a bitter aftertaste of radiation. The only decent food he's had in the past year had been the occasional deathclaw steak, but even those were riddled with benign tumors.

These apple things were a treat, and he fully intended on spoiling himself rotten.

He chewed slowly and only when Charlotte looked like she was at risk of exploding with curiosity, he gave a careless shrug and swallowed.

"Not a god, but I think I'm pretty god-like," Jonah said with a smirk as he took another bite.

"Like a demi-god?" Charlotte pressed, apparently not getting the joke. Her eyes were wide with something that Jonah could only describe as reverence. It wasn't the first time he's seen that aimed at him but he never liked it. Jonah never made it a secret that he thought most wastelanders were drooling, self-destructive, irradiated morons and he knew what he appeared to be to them.

They had grown up with horror stories of deathclaws and raiders. Now their kids got to grow up with stories of him defeating the nightmares of the wasteland.

To the wasteland, he had been the Messiah, their savior. It only made sense they would place him on a pedestal. Jonah didn't mind that part. It was nice that his efforts to rid the wasteland of filth were being appreciated and the perks of lower prices for supplies or free beer were always welcome. However, when a wastelander threw themselves at his feet and asked to be blessed, that's where things got weird.

Jonah knew he could save the wasteland by cleansing it of monsters, both human, and beast, but he couldn't save the soul. No matter what anyone else thought.

"As in being the son of a god?" Jonah clarified, sounding faintly amused by the idea. According to those guys in Rivet City, the first Messiah had been exactly that. However, he gave a shrug and took another bite, "nah, don't think so. My dad was a great guy, the best, but I don't think he was a god. The only thing he had with the big guy upstairs was the water thing, though that was for very different reasons. "

Jonah frowned slightly as he swallowed his apple, a twinge of sadness appearing as he thought of his dad. They hadn't been close in the vault. Jonah had been a troublemaker and thought him to be overbearing so, like an idiot, he pushed back whenever his father tried to get too close to him. He had been more preoccupied with his career as the head of engineering and trying to get into Amanta's pants.

Now, all he had were regrets with a few fond memories in the mix because he had been a stupid, horny teenager that thought he knew everything.

"What about your mother? Was she a goddess…?" Charlotte asked, the edge of her enthusiasm curved when she saw him frown.

"If you asked my dad, then yeah, but I never knew her. She died giving birth to me," he explained with a shrug, taking another bite.

That took the wind out of her sails. Charlotte all but deflated before his very eyes. "I apologize. It was not my place to question you," she said, bowing her her head submissively. Jonah's frown deeper but he let out a sigh to mask it when she raised her head.

"It's fine. I've done some pretty crazy things in the, what? Six hours you've known me?" Jonah shrugged again, dismissing the issue as he tossed the less tasty core of the apple into his mouth. "I'd be shocked if you didn't have a question or two. We don't have much time, but I can answer a few." He offered as he reached for a orange fruit thing.

Charlotte smiled lightly when she saw him make a face when he sank his teeth into the fruit before she took it from him gently as if he would bite. However, he handed it over, trying to get the taste of the waxy insides out of his mouth.

"You are not normal," Charlotte stated as she began peeling the orange stuff off. "Your weapons aside, your accent is unlike any I have ever heard, and you use words I don't understand; like 'movie' or 'okay.' You're stronger than ten men, and you heal so quickly and...you freed us. Some in this city haven't realized it, like the masters who fight us, but every slave in Myr became free the moment you said that they were." As she handed the orange thing back to him, she gave him an intense look.

"If you aren't a god...then what are you?" She asked in a serious voice, which was enough to break him out of his marveling that the orange thing came pre-sliced. He met her gaze for a long moment, wondering how he could best answer that question. However, there wasn't a real simple, quick, answer that wouldn't give her a thousand more questions.

"You know how I said that when I left home, the outside world sucked?" He questioned, splitting the orange in half. What a wondrous little thing this was. Mother Nature, when she wasn't being a vindictive bitch, could create the most amazing things. "Well, that was a bit of an understatement." He began, popping half of the orange into his mouth and swallowed it after chewing it a few times.

"I come from a place called the Wasteland-"

"Like the Red Wastes?" Charlotte interrupted then blushed when Jonah raised an eyebrow. She nodded meekly and Jonah took that as permission to continue.

"If you mean that in the sense everything was trying to kill you, then yeah, like the Red Wastes, whatever they are. How it became the wasteland is an entirely separate story, but let's just say that two hundred years ago a bunch of idiots decided to kill each other and didn't care how many people died in the crossfire. So, they used...poison that infected everything. It's in the water, the food and it made the wildlife grow until they're uniquely suited to murder the absolute fuck out everything." Jonah said, popping the other half of the orange into his mouth, wondering how he was going to explain that when the time came.

"It killed whoever ingested it slowly which was a pain because there wasn't any way to not ingest it. Usually, it was slow, taking years and doing the deed with cancer or making your organs fail. It could also be really quick if you hung around where the poison was concentrated. I mean it was absolutely everywhere, and there was no way to avoid it, only to treat the symptoms. In the wasteland, you either died from the poison, getting murdered by a raider and having your mutilated corpse as a decoration or get eaten by a deathclaw."

"A...deathclaw?" Charlotte echoed, and Jonah nodded, agreeing with her stunned amazement. That's how he felt when he first heard the name. Though, it had nothing on the awe-inspiring terror when he realized that it fully deserved its name.

"Yeah, think of a dragon, minus the wings and the fire, but a lot fucking scarier." Charlotte did exactly that if the fact she looked afraid at the thought of that.

"However, that pison turned me into what I am. My body changed so I could survive and then thrive. I'm not sure if I can still be called human or not anymore. I'm just...the Messiah," Jonah said with one last shrug as he pushed himself back from the ledge he had been leaning on. Both because he wanted to make the moment dramatic but also because he saw more people entering the clearing.

Based on their armor and the weapons, both of which had blood on them, he guessed that they were the pit slaves.

"What does that word mean? Messiah?" Charlotte questioned after a moment.

"A savior, more or less. I was more of a helping the weak and punishing the guilty than dealing with souls and all that fun stuff," Jonah said, holding the door open for charlotte to follow him like a proper gentleman.

There had been a time that he rejected the title, thinking himself not worthy, but he accepted it now. No, he embraced it. He was the Messiah of the East, the bane of raiders rapists and slavers, the one source of justice in the wasteland and karmas favorite tool to dishing out just deserts. That was who he was now. That's what he was now.

"Like Azor Ahai?"

"Who's that?" Jonah asked as they walked down the hallways, periodically checking his pip-boy to make sure they weren't getting lost. The palace was stupidly huge and the only hint they were going the right way was the size of the hallway and the number of works of art that lined the walls.

"Many thousands of years ago, the long night came a winter that men can be born and see their grandchildren die of old age before it ended. The White Walkers and their army of the undead were the cause of it, and it nearly extinguished the flame of humanity. It was only when the White Walkers had all but won and their armies numbered in the hundreds of thousands did R'hllor appear with his sword covered in flames and vanquished them back into the Lands of Always Winter," Charlotte explained and Jonah got the feeling that was the abridged version of the story.

"Eh, more or less. I didn't stop the apocalypse, I just cleaned up after," Jonah said, glancing at one of the paintings and was relieved to see that his recognized it. They were on the right track.

"Ahhh…" Charlotte muttered, but Jonah ignored it as he walked down the steps and pushed the massive double doors open with absolute ease, revealing the courtyard. The rebels were busy piling the bodies up to make a kill box around the only entrance after striping them down.

A fair portion of the horde were digging in on the off chance that the masters tried to retake the palace, but Jonah sent the bulk of the rebels out to stir up trouble. Jonah didn't have any information on where the pockets of resistance were at so he spread everyone out with the orders to reinforce when they encounter some.

All in all, the rebellion seemed to be going well. More and more slaves were claiming their freedom and the resistance was crumbling. It was impossible for it all to be over in one day but it was looking like the most of the work was done. Naturally, Jonah was preparing for masters and their soldiers to start pouring out of the walls because this might not be the wasteland but certain laws of the universe were always adhered to.

Mainly; if it can go wrong, it will at the most inconvenient time possible.

Some dropped to a knee when they saw him, but others were quick to pull them up before whispering fiercely into their ear. Jonah wasn't a fan of the whole bowing thing. He preferred handshakes or nods of acknowledgment.

One of which he sent to the pit fighters that were standing in the center of the court yard, torn between looking at him or the great wall of bodies the rebels were building or staring at the vasts amounts of dried blood on the stairs.

There were three of them and Jonah recognized them as the leaders. Mostly because how they carried themselves but also because they stood in front of a couple of dozen others.

"So you're this Messiah we've heard so much about," the one in the center said, twirling a bloody blade between his fingers. "Thanks for starting the rebellion! I've been waiting for absolute ages to kill my master, but I just like living too much to die to do it. So cheers on giving me the chance," the dark skinned man said, flashing white teeth with a winning smile.

"My pleasure," Jonah said, smirking back and glad someone else spoke his language. Charlotte was kind enough to stick with him so that he wasn't left helpless, but she had her own goals and dreams. Eventually, they would go their separate ways, but Jonah was hoping that they could walk the same path a little longer.

His eyes scanned over the other two. One was a woman, two daggers at her hip and a long scar from the bottom of her jaw to just over her eyebrow marred her features. The skin was pulled a little tighter in the side of her face, but Jonah thought she was still pretty enough. Though, she looked like a total badass with the eyepatch since he guessed whatever gave her the scar also took her eye.

The guy standing next to her, however, was bad news. He saw it the moment he saw the larger man. A hefty war axe rested on his shoulder, and it looked well used. His arms were thick, and his chest was like a barrel, leading to a thick neck covered in scruff that also covered his square jaw. It wasn't his appearance that told Jonah that they were going to have problems.

It was the challenging, almost cocky look in his eyes.

"Since you're here, I guess you got my message?" He asked though he knew the answer already. Diplomacy was never his strong suit. If anything, it was his most glaring weakness.

"We did! We were most honored to be summoned by you, your, uh, grace?" The smiling one asked in a questioning tone.

"Jonah," he corrected and was pleased to see a flicker of surprise pass over the man's features before the grin returned.

"Lovely! I was never one for titles anyway! But, where are my manners," he bowed at the waist in an over, "the name is Rico Sand. The lovely lady is Ayea, no surname I'm afraid, and the hunk of meat is Ivar. Altogether, we control the vast majority of the pit fighters. A few, er-well, they took freedom by the horns and are having their way with it." Rico introduced himself and the others but managed to make Jonah frown at the last bit

"That's fine. Just give me their names later, and I'll hunt them down," Jonah said, and Rico winced slightly, earning the attention of Ayea though Ivar was just staring at him.

"Anyway, Charlotte said that out of everyone in the city, your groups have the most experience fighting. I want your help killing the rest of the masters," Jonah said bluntly, getting right to the point. The faster they got back out there, the better.

"Yes, we suspected that was why you summoned us. Howe-" Rico was cut off when Ivar walked forward and pushed Rico to the side so he could get in Jonah's face. Jonah simply rose an eyebrow in response, cocking his head to the side and made himself looked amused by the action.

"Ah… yes, you see, I personally have no problem with helping you kill the masters, nor does Avea, but Ivar has some…," Rico paused, trying very hard to think of a way to say what he needed to say that wouldn't end in someone dying. "Reservations about your code. He's perfectly happy to kill the masters but, the whole...uhhh," Rico tried to continue, but there was no need.

"He wants to raid and rape?" Jonah hazard a guess and going by how Rico's smile faded into a grim line; he guessed right.

"Yes...I haven't been a slave for more than a few years, but Ivar has been a pit slave for most of his life. He doesn't see why he should be stopped from...enjoying his freedom with doing what he wants with the masters," Rico explained, and something must have given away his annoyance because the cocky smirk grew a fraction.

"And why does he seem so smug about it," Jonah asked, not looking away from Ivar.

"Because he leads the largest group of pit fighters. Before today, the best way to survive as a pit fighter was to join a faction. We didn't have much sway when it came to the fights, but we could protect lesser known fighters by getting them better matches or from the other factions," he explained helpfully, gesturing to Avea and Ivar.

"His faction was...much larger than ours," Rico added, and Jonah nodded.

"So he thinks I have to bend over backward to kiss his ass and let him fuck me in the process," Jonah summarized with a nod. However, then he smiled.

"Charlotte, can I get you to translate something for me?" Jonah asked, and he enjoyed watching that cocky look slowly begin to fade away.

"Of course," Charlotte said, taking a step forward with much more confidence than she had.

"You can raid and rape if that is your wish. You're free. I am not your master, and I'm not your leader. You're free to do what you want now," he said and, for the briefest moment, the man's grin became a full blown smile.

"But, if you do, I'll cut your dick off and choke you to death with it," Jonah said, and it was his turn to smile widly when Ivar looked taken back by that. "If it's big enough," he added, adding a little salt to the wound. However, instead of being insulted, as he expected, Ivar cocked his head to the side and gave him a calculating look, something that Jonah didn't think he was smart enough to do.

"Neges pugnatores mei?" He asked in a deep voice that could almost be described as booming.

"You would refuse his men?" Charlotte translated, and Jonah didn't waste any time to nod at the question.

"Yeah. Happily. And, if they rose a weapon to defend you or broke my code, then I would kill them alongside the masters. I want to make something very clear to you, to all of you, because even though I've been repeating myself for hours now, I don't think any of you really understand what I'm saying." He said, jabbing a finger into Ivar's chest.

"Raiders, rapists, and slavers die. No exceptions. None. At all. Ever. I don't care if you raped your greatest enemy and they deserved it, I will kill you. I don't care if you're sorry, I'll still kill you. I don't care if you did it ages ago and you've been a fucking saint since then; I'll still kill you. I don't care if you're a king of kings or what a god prays to. If you break my code for any reason, I. Will. Kill. You. Period. Do you understand?" He asked slowly, making sure to give him another poke to the chest hard enough he was forced to take a step back.

The tension between them was thick enough to cut a knife and it only got worse when Charlotte translated his words. A significant portion of the pit fighters shifted, their hands going to their bloodied weapons and it didn't go unnoticed by the rebels. They were going for their weapons as well and steadily encircling them. Jonah reached out and led Charlotte behind him, and she did so obediently.

The tension stretch on for a long couple of seconds with Ivar trying to stare a hole in his head with Jonah staring right back unflinchingly. Then, Ivar let out a huff of breath and nodded, backing down.

"Good. Now come on. We have a lot to discuss," Jonah said, purposely turning his back to Ivar and gesturing for them to come in. He walked a few steps towards the palace, expecting an axe in the back, but he only heard grumbling and footsteps behind him.

After sending Charlotte a wink, he allowed himself a small smile. That had more or less gone according to plan.

"Split your men up, however, you think best and send them out into the streets. Look for the ones dressed in black leather armor or see that guy over there," Jonah said, gesturing to one of the rebels that was barking orders at others, having assumed some leadership role. "We need to smoke out the masters and their soldiers, but, for now, we have other stuff to discuss."

He didn't need eyes in the back of his head to know they exchanged glances at that but, obediently, they followed behind him back towards the palace.

…

"Quare sunt hic esse volumus pro pugnatorum," Avea said in a joyless tone, sitting down and scanning the room for threat. Jonah noticed that her single eye lingered on the headless corpse, examining it. When her gaze flicked back to him, a silent question in her eye, he made sure to give her a mysterious grin in response.

"She wants to know why they are here and not out fighting," Charlotte relayed, deciding to stand next to Jonah at the head of the table. Not only was it comfortable but the one next to it was strong enough that it wouldn't collapse underneath the weight of his bag.

"Because we have to discuss something that could arguably be more important," Jonah answered, grabbing a bottle of wine and giving it a curious sniff. Recognizing the smell of alcohol, he poured himself a glass and, just to be polite; he did the same for the others.

As if they could smell it, the doors to the room opened again, and thirteen men and women walked in. Twitchy described them best. They glanced around the room, radiating fear out of every pour. They all but dropped to the floor when they saw Jonah, and for a moment, he almost thought they were trying to play dead. Much less amusing, they had just bowed so low they were practically laying on the ground, muttering in their language.

With a roll of his eyes, he gestured for the guard to pick them up, and he made sure to give them a winning smile when they looked up fearfully as he motioned for them to sit down. The thirteen of them traded nervous glances but, eventually, one of them bucked up and took a seat. It was a man with an impressive mustache that Jonah only thought existed in cheesy movies. A symbol was on his cheek, but Jonah could recognize for what job it stood for.

That seemed to bolden the rest because, in a few short seconds, the room was filled with the sound of chairs being pulled out.

"Who are these people?" Rico asked, taking a sip from his cup. He frowned at it in faint surprise before he held it up in a roasting gesture at Jonah before quickly downing the rest.

"They are the personal slaves of the Magisters that use to rule the city," Jonah answered, taking a sip from his own cup. He frowned at it as well but not because he liked it. It was wine, he could tell by the taste, but it was weak. Really weak. Being more of a bourbon man himself, Jonah grabbed a bottle from his bag and poured that into his cup after draining his laughably weak wine.

"Ahhh...am I about to see someone die?" Rico asked somewhat warily, but he looked much more interested in what he was pouring into his cup.

"Always a possibility around me, but not likely right now," he answered before he gave a mental shrug and reached over to pour some bourbon in Rico's cup. As he did so, he pretended not to notice that most of the ex-slaves relax at his words. So, most of them could speak his language but, for whatever reason, they were pretending that they couldn't. Whatever.

"Right now, we'll be discussing what happens after we win the revolution," Jonah said, and Rico spat the bourbon out in a fine mist. Jonah rose an eyebrow, watching him clutch his throat with some amusement along with his comrades.

"Is it that surprising that I want to have a plan after we win?" He asked, taking a sip from his own cup and thoroughly enjoying the sharp burn on his tongue. Jonah traded an amused glance with Charlotte, who was eyeing his bottle with faint interest. However, she shook her head when he went to offer her a cup. Her loss.

"No, well, yes; it's not often I see anyone plan for the aftermath other than 'I rule now' but thats not why I spat out...whatever that was. Was it poison? Have I been poisoned? You couldn't have used a more delicious one?" Rico asked, eying what was left in his cup with suspicion. The ex-slaves watched the exchange nervously, glancing at their own cups.

"If you want to get all technical about it, then yeah, but it's the good kind of poison. I'm not even sure if that wine was alcoholic," Jonah mused, taking another sip of his poison of choice to put any doubts at ease. Rico just looked impressed and shook his head in disbelief.

"Well, for future reference, if you do poison me, I'd prefer it if it tasted of honey," Rico said, putting what was left of the bourbon on the table and scooting it away from him.

"Will do," Jonah agreed with a nod before he turned his attention back to the others. Avea was watching the exchange curiously while Ivar looked like he was bored out of his mind and impatient if the fact his foot was repeatedly bouncing underneath the table. Everyone else was just shifting in their seats, glancing either at him fearfully or at the headless corpse just off to the side of him.

Jonah smiled lightly, amused by how he must look to them. He was still more or less completely covered in blood from the battle earlier, only washing down his face and hands and getting a new shirt. However, it was still in his hair, and he still reeked of death. Add that to the blood stains throughout the halls and the corpse of the Magister along side all the stories they must have heard on their way up, he could only imagine what was going through their minds.

"Now then, this may surprise some of you, but this isn't my first slave revolt and the biggest problem that I face last time was what came after," Jonah began with Charlotte echoing his words. "It was utter chaos. The city collapsed since it was left vacant both because people got the fuck out of there and I had to kill a lot of the rebels for breaking my code." He made sure to look at Ivar when he said that.

That had been a terrible waste too because there weren't many places that could smeltdown iron and reforge it. At least not in Capital Wasteland.

"So, I summoned you all here because you can either provide some fire power," he gestured to the pit fighters, "or you have previous experience helping rule this city." he gestured at the ex-slaves, who were giving him their undivided attention and Jonah noticed that he had taken the edge of their fear off. He even saw a glimmer of greed enter their eyes.

"You guessed it. I want your help running the city for the time being. You have the experience that no one else in the city can claim to have. I don't have time to wait for someone to learn the ropes because the city will plunge into chaos if we wait. You lot are the best bet to avoid that for now. I want to be clear that your positions are not permanent," he held up a hand to stop any grumbling, but there wasn't any.

"But, you prove that deserve them, and you will get to keep the position, whatever it might be," he finished, and the man with the glorious mustache spoke up.

"Et quomodo esset sumus probabimus dignus eos?" He asked, his mustache twitching every time his lips moved. Jonah wouldn't grow one himself, more of a few days growth man himself, but he could appreciate a good mustache when he saw one, and this guy had an amazing mustache. He hoped that he wouldn't have to kill him or the person that replaced him in whatever position he had would have an equally awesome mustache.

"He asks what they would have to do to prove worthy?" Charlotte translated, and Jonah frowned in thought. He knew what he wanted, but he didn't know how to phrase it so they would do it correctly.

"The bare minimum? Make the transition between Myr being a slave dominated city to a city of the free as painless as possible. There's going to be hiccups, and there's going to be a lot of costs because three-fourths of the population are now going to be paid for their work. A lot of things have changed and even more will, but I can help you deal with that as much as I can," Jonah explained, but he felt that left too much unsaid. There was too much leeway in that explanation, and he learned the hard way when you give someone an inch that they'll take a mile.

"That's the bare minimum. What I want, the end goal is for Myr to become...fair. A place where everyone, no matter what color, gender or who their parents are, has the same opportunities. I want the people of Myr to have, at the very least, a chance to live out their dreams or find a career that they have a passion for. And, failing that, they can still make money with a job that they don't completely hate as they pursue that dream," Jonah said, gesturing wildly, trying to put the dream into words.

"Petitis enim impossibilis," one of them said after Charlotte translated for him.

"I know I'm asking for the impossible," Jonah said when Charlotte translated what they said. "What I want in my hearts of hearts cannot be done. Ever. It's a pipe dream that will never exist in reality. So, I want the next best thing." Jonah said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. His gaze swept over those that at the table and he saw them straighten in response. "That's the goal you strive to," he said with a sense of finality, leaning back in his chair.

He got a few resolute nods and a smile from Rico. The rest met his gaze stonily or fidgeted underneath his gaze.

"If you understand, then you're free to go. We haven't won yet, so take this time to figure out how to do so. I'll make sure that you have the information that you need to figure it all out," he said, and they seemed to take that as permission to leave. They pushed up their chairs and began filing out of the room, most of them looking back at him and then the corpse before hurrying out of the room.

Rico gave an exaggerated bow before he exited but, to his surprise, Avea paused at the door. She glanced back at him, narrowing her only eye.

"Somnium tuum nescio, sed mihi pugnabit pro vobis. Quod primus homo es Ive semper s worth continenter pugnaretur occurrit," she said in a rough tone before she walked out the door before he could respond. He looked at Charlotte helplessly, and she gave him a small, but proud smile.

"She said that she doesn't believe in your dream, but she believes in you," Charlotte translated, and Jonah settled into his chair with a smug smile on his face. Oh, it would good to have some of his reputation back. Gesturing for her to sit down, Charlotte glanced at the bottle again, and Jonah poured her a glass, ignoring her protests before they could even begin.

"How many of them do you think qualifies for my 'you get to live list?' Jonah asked, nursing his fresh glass of bourbon.

"...almost none of them," Charlotte said after a moment, taking a sip of her bourbon. As she spat it out, much like Rico did before along with a cough; Jonah could only frown.

"Yeah. That's what I figured."


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry about long time no see! For those that don't know, I work two jobs that average out about 80 hours a week. So I just didn't have any time to write in the past months, and when I did have time, I spent it sleeping. I'm not going to promise a steady update schedule, but I will update when I can.

On a side note, I've gone back and made some serious edits to the story. The most notable examples are the arrow scene and sentence structure. Since I apparently could use the word 'however' about 24 times in a single chapter.

This chapter is more of a world and character building chapter to ease me back into it.

* * *

"Messiah?" A whisper was so soft that Jonah nearly lost it in the sea of screams of agony and fear surrounding him. His eyes snapped to the source, a child so thin Jonah could wrap a hand around both of his wrists with plenty of room to spare. A makeshift bandage covered most of his stomach and whatever color it use to be was lost to a deep, dark red. A massive contrast to how pale the child no older than ten was - only a layer of dirt and grease colored his skin. Even still, he held out a feeble hand that faltered a moment before Jonah caught it.

"Messiah," the child breathed, his eyes unfocused as Jonah crouched down next him.

 _Stomach wound._ Jonah didn't even need to lift the bandages to know what laid beneath. That bandage was the only thing stopping his intestines from falling out, and it was a token effort at best

"Messiah. Messiah. Messiah," the child whispered over and over, like some desperate chant.

"Hey, in here. I'm here," Jonah replied, his lips pressed together into a thin line. _He's going to need surgery._ It was unavoidable, even with the power of stimpacks. A blood transfusion too since half of his blood seemed to be soaking the bandage.

"Messiah. Messiah! Messiah? Messiah..." the child continued to mutter as Jonah looked around the marketplace turned field hospital. All the injured that could survive being moved were sent here to the doctors. Blood raced down the drains in a steady stream and into the sewers below from hundreds of dead and dying, from both slaver and rebel. It was only one of many scattered throughout the city.

Dozens of midwives, healers or anyone with a scrap of medical knowledge darted between the screaming men and women. All the while dozens more carried off the dead.

"You're going to be all right," Jonah told the child, not believing it for a second. Too much blood lost. The wound in too bad of a spot.

 _I'll have to perform it_. Slipping his bag over his shoulder, Jonah unlatched the medical kit hanging off of the front. Clicking it open he grabbed what he needed, but his hand hesitated over the buffout and stimpacks. One full bottle and fifty stimpacks. That was it and, unless Myr could advance hundreds of years over night, that was it for the foreseeable future.

 _He's going to die_. That cold, logical part of his brain spoke up. Jonah knew it was the truth. All the odds were against him, and that was if he used the drugs so advanced they borderline magical.

 _I can't afford to waste them_. It was true. That rational part of his brain was right. His hand grabbed them anyway.

A shadow of a chance was still a chance.

Popping the Buffout open, he cut a pill in half using his fingernail before depositing it into the kid's mouth. "Shhhhh, swallow that. It'll dull the pain," Jonah ordered before grabbing his canteen and raising it to the kid's lips. They moved even as he drank the purified water, repeating that word - his name - over and over. Giving the medicine a moment to kick in, Jonah spent the time dousing his hands in bourbon.

"Messiah...Messiah…Messiah…"

"What's your name kid?" Jonah asked, gently pulling the bandage off. It was just as bad as Jonah thought. Not quite in the stomach but far too close for comfort - whatever got him got him just below the ribs and in the fleshy area a couple of inches from his navel.

"Messiah...Messiah…"

"That's my name," Jonah said, sending the child a smile that almost didn't look fake. He doubted that the kid saw it with his unfocused eyes. All the while Jonah worked; threading the needle, he spared a thought on how he wished he had more specialized equipment before he went in.

"Messiah...Messiah...Messiah…" The kid panted as Jonah cleaned the wound and slowly injected the stimpack into his organs. Getting hit in the stomach was almost always fatal, no matter how small the injury. Internal organs were just so tightly compacted that a stab was bound to hit something and, more often than not, that meant fecal matter spilled from the opening. There was little point in surviving a gut wound only to die of infection after.

The bleeding cut in his large intestine stopped pouring blood as soon as the stimpack started working. Rapidly, the edges grew slightly until they fused together. Only a thin white line marked where he was wounded.

"You're one hell of a little kid; you know that? I've done this with fully grown men, and they just screamed and screamed and screamed. Not to mention that little pill should have knocked you out like a light," Jonah said, moving on to cleaning out any other filth to and searching for another point of bleeding.

"Messiah...Messiah...Messiah...Mess...ahhhhh…" The child let out a shuddering breath before his chest stilled. Jonah didn't hesitate and placed his hands on his unbeating heart before starting CPR. Seconds turned into minutes, ribs creaked underneath his powerful hands but no matter how much Jonah tried, he couldn't breathe life back into the child.

Trying one last time, and meeting the same result, Jonah let out an explosive sigh as he looked down at the kid. He couldn't be any older than eight. His last words echoed in Jonah's ears, repeating the same word over and over and over again and saying it with his final breath.

"He was chanting my name," Jonah muttered, pressing his lips into a thin line. His heart clenched painfully - kids were always the hardest. Always the ones that stuck with him. Probably why he liked Little Lamplight so much. Jonah knew he would never have to seriously worry about them and that those kids could take care of themselves.

"Messiah?" A male voice over his shoulder asked. Glancing over, Jonah saw a balding old man with thin wisps of hair combed over a shining scalp in the evening sun. Baggy gray robes couldn't hide the gut straining at the front and the large chain around his neck clanked with every step. Jonah didn't know how he managed it; the sound was already driving him up the wall.

"What?" Jonah asked, closing the child's eyes before packing his supplies away.

"Erm, may we take the body?" He asked, gesturing to the kid. Jonah held his gaze for a long second, long enough for the man to fidget, before he nodded silently.

"Where are the graves?" Jonah asked, throwing his bag over his shoulder and standing up. Maybe he'd apologize later for not finding him sooner or for not being able to do more.

"Outside the city, your grace," the man answered with a small bow. _Your grace._ He wasn't from around here; Jonah knew that despite not from around here either. How he held himself, how he spoke and his mannerisms.

"The same for the slavers?" Jonah asked, striding forward to the next patient that had half a chance of surviving. An older man gripped his arm with surprising strength as another clutched at a stump where his leg once was. His face twisted into a mask of agony but he couldn't bring himself to make a sound. His mouth just hung open uselessly in a silent scream.

"Yes, your grace. Though the grave is getting rather full, we'll have to start a new one, I'm afraid." The old man answered as Jonah grabbed a whole pill from the bottle of buffout and pushed it into the man's mouth. In seconds, his grip on Jonah's arm lessened until it fell to the ground. His eyes butterflied shut as the powerful painkiller worked.

"What about graves for our dead?" Jonah asked, moving on to the next poor soul wounded. The old man followed him like a shadow, his chain clanking with every step.

He wants something. Blood splattered his robe and his hands, meaning he was a doctor or, he helped with the patience. He thought what he wanted was more important than saving lives.

"I'm afraid we've already filled up two, your grace. And we are well on our way to filling a third. The revolt was a success but-"

"Three graves," Jonah noted, cutting him off. "You're throwing our dead into a great big hole in the ground?" He asked, injecting the last of the stimpack after sterilizing the needle.

"I-"

"Will dig them back up and give them individual graves so their families, loved ones and whoever can visit them and pay their respects." Jonah finished for him, turning his gaze back to him as he stood. The older man crumpled underneath its weight like paper.

"But-but, that would-" Silencing him, Jonah placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in.

"That wasn't a request." Giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze to reinforce that point, Jonah's eyes found Rico, who surveyed the marketplace filled with the dead and dying with a grim expression. "They don't have to be too deep, just a couple of feet. Mark a stone with their names. I'll stop by later to help."

With that, Jonah stepped past the odd man, who still failed to formulate a response to that. Whatever he wanted, he wouldn't be getting it today. Raising a hand to get Rico's attention, his dark brown eyes found Jonah's before he approached. Careful not to step on anyone but Jonah noticed blood splash up onto his pants and boots when he carelessly stepped in a puddle.

"Jonah! I will admit, this is the last place I expected you to be," he greeted with an easy smile, clasping Jonah on the shoulder.

"I can do as much good here as I can in the field. Unless you have some news for me?" Jonah asked sending Rico an expecting look. Rico just nodded, gesturing for them to walk down a street as he began to explain.

"I do, in fact. Apparently, the masters had a plan in the event of a slave uprising - admittedly, not a very good plan since most of the masters are dead, but a plan nonetheless. The barracks in the diamond quarter serves as a safe house, of sorts."

Jonah nodded, accepting that they weren't going to find and kill every master overnight. Some would escape, despite his every effort, and others would find corners to die in. "I suppose it only makes sense. Only an idiot wouldn't have a plan for a slave revolt when they outnumber the free three to one."

"Quite so. From my understanding, many masters and their guards fled to the barracks and barricaded themselves in. My scout said that they have a hundred in there, at the very least. We could starve them out, which shouldn't take too long, but we simply don't know how much food that they have. And storming the barracks could prove costly," Rico added, sending Jonah a not so subtle glance.

"Are there not some secret tunnel to let them escape? Seems kinda pointless for them to have a preplanned safehouse without a way to escape it," Jonah noted, bobbing his head at the unspoken request to work his magic.

"That was my instinct as well, and I sent my men to investigate. They haven't found anything and, truth be told my friend, I'm not sure that the masters are even there anymore. Even still, leaving them there for them to die on their own time stops us from moving on to bigger and better thing," Rico answered, flashing a smile with surprisingly white teeth.

"True enough," Jonah agreed, sending a nod to a mother with her child. She was pointing at him from down the street as she whispered in her kid's ear, all the while the kid looked at him with eyes wide enough that there was an honest risk of them falling out. A great big smile on her face told him that she was singing his praises, even though he couldn't hear the words.

"What else is on the agenda?" Jonah asked, sending polite smiles and waves at the many more that they passed. The streets were the oddest mixture of deserted and packed. People celebrated their newfound freedom in taverns or just in the streets. They picked the location of their parties at random.

Even still, for every slave celebrating their freedom, there was another hunting down any trace of the masters or breaking the chains of anyone that hadn't heard his words. And, for every one of them, another wept at the cost of their freedom.

Myr was now free, but at a cost it would feel for some time.

"The...er…" Rico stumbled, at a loss on what to call the leaders Jonah installed.

"Councilors," Jonah said after a beat of silence, testing the word. He liked it. Much better than Magister of Whatever, at any rate.

"I like it. The Councilors want to meet you at some point about what happened next. About the whole 'surrounded by people that want us dead' thing. That and some other matters, but I doubt they're as important." Rico answered carelessly and earned a sharp look from Jonah.

Blowing out a soft sigh, Jonah ran a hand through his hair as he took in the news. Myr was surrounded? That would have been a useful little detail to know. Jonah was never a grand scheme type, but a plan to deal with that would have been helpful.

 _Don't have anyone to blame but myself_. No one forced him to start the revolt early because he didn't have any patience. He pulled the trigger knowing exactly what the consequences would be.

"Give me a run down. The biggest threat to smallest." Jonah ordered as they began climbing a stupid number of steps to reach the diamond quarter. Myr was overly fond of steps.

"Ah, well, I'd say the biggest threat would be a Tyrosh-Lys alliance. They're the other two daughters of the disputed lands. Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys have had a rivalry that's lasted for...hundreds of years. Not really sure why, but my guess would be trade. If my time in the fighting pits taught me anything, it's that long time rivalries can be put aside when blood is in the water." Rico began after a moment.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Jonah quoted.

"Oh, I like that! I'll have to use it some time...and yes. I'm afraid I can't give numbers, but I can all but promise that they will outnumber us should they join forces. As far as sellsword companies, I know that Tyrosh has the Windblown, Long Lances and the Second Sons. Lys...well...they have the Golden Company." Rico said with a grimace and Jonah filed those names away for later.

"Okay, what else?" Jonah said, moving on as he memorized the names. They sounded like names that he should know.

"Next would be Volantis. Volantis is an old beast. Five slaves for every man and it's the biggest city in Essos by far. I once heard a man claim that they could field an army of a hundred thousand if you count the sellsword companies under their thumb and their slave soldiers. Their war elephants are something to be feared," Rico continued, scratching at his cheek. Jonah could practically see the cogs turning in his mind as he tried to recall everything he knew about the free city.

"Take what I have to say with a pinch of salt, but they may not interfere directly. They choose a council from old noble houses, and they're split between two parties; the elephants and tigers. Elephants want to trade, and the tigers want war. Earlier this year, three elephants were elected in. They could decide that this opportunity is just too good to pass up, but if they don't we should have nearly a year until the next election." Rico explained before trailing off with a shrug.

"Then there's Pentos to the North. Pentos, well, they don't have any official military power. They lost a war to Braavos a long time ago, and now they can't have a standing army, contract sellsword companies and they've abolished slavery."

"But?" Jonah asked, knowing one was coming.

"But, they have 'indentured servants' indebted to them and the servants don't get paid enough to pay off the debt. Before they contracted Myr and Tyrosh's armies to bypass not contracting sellsword companies, but everyone knows they have other ways of doing it. They have good relationships with several Dothraki hordes, and I'd bet my left hand that most of the pirates sail back to a Pentos harbor." Rico answered with a small sigh, much like Jonah did minutes ago.

"Dothraki hordes?"

"Ah, them. You'll love them and, by that, I mean you'll want to kill them. All of them. They're the three things you hate the most," Rico said, sending Jonah a smile.

"Huh...and them?" Jonah asked, scratching absentmindedly at his cheek. His shit-list was getting long. Very, very, very long. It'd be years before he ran out of names to cross out.

The thought brought a smile to his lips.

"The Dothraki are several hordes of warriors that wander the Dothraki sea, a vast flat land that stretches as far as the eye can see. Their numbers vary between each horde, but all number in the thousands. They rape, raid and enslave around Essos. When they visit the free cities, they wait outside until their lavished with tribute. They always are since the leaders of the free cities know the horde would raze the city to the ground once they got inside. And they would get inside." Rico said, spitting on the ground to show his distaste.

"As for if they interfere? That is completely determined on the Khal. If they feel threatened by you, then they'll attack. If Pentos calls in a favor, they'll attack. If they think we're easy picking, they'll attack." Rico said with a shrug of his shoulders and Jonah nodded, knowing the type of raiders.

Smart raiders only struck settlements when they knew they were weak. More often than not, by making them vulnerable by raiding trade caravans and picking off sentries and hunters. They were almost as dangerous as the large gangs that's stupidity was only matched by their viciousness.

"I don't suppose we have any allies in this mess?"

"Braavos, but I wouldn't offer a helping hand in this fight. Wouldn't hurt to ask though," Rico offered as they reached the plateau of the diamond quarter.

"Rico, what were you before you became a pit fighter?" Jonah asked as he scanned the sight. A large No-Man's-Land filled with a few corpses riddled with arrows surrounded a large building. Only a few windows but each one had a bow sticking out, and all were perfectly poised to leave no blind spot. The doors were a thick wood reinforced with iron plating that was occasionally marred by failed attempts to breach it. Thick walls, high ledges...it looked like a small fortress.

"Ah, why the sudden curiosity about little old me?" Rico asked, deflecting the question as Jonah spared a glance to the rebel forces. No one out in the open while dozens of people clustered around corners, waiting for a break in the standstill.

"Because if I asked those questions to anyone else, I doubt I'd get half of those answers," Jonah said, walking slowly and noting that the bows followed him rather than focus on the others. They knew who he was and they were treating him accordingly.

"I'm a bastard to Dagon Manwoody over in Dorne. I came to Essos to make my way - sitting at Kingsgrave was fun and all, but I was bitten by the wanderlust bug. That, and I spent too much of my father's money drinking in taverns and on whores…" Rico admitted with a chuckle, and Jonah didn't fail to notice that the smaller man was walking on his right side while his left was exposed to the archers.

"Joined a sellsword company, killed men for money for a few years until my company was soundly crushed by the Gallant Men. They rounded up the survivors instead of killing us and took us to Volantis. Sold us there to the pit fighters and I proved rather good at it. Eventually, I found myself here, in Myr and, well, you know the rest my friend." Rico said, sending Jonah a winning smile before Jonah wiped it off a second later.

Pushing Rico to the side as he leaned back, Jonah dodged a whistling arrow that sailed through where his neck was a second ago. The arrow slammed into a wall, sparks dancing where metal and stone met before hitting the ground and resting there.

"Your dad didn't try to free you?" Jonah questioned, his gaze finding the archer that shot at him. It took a moment for Rico to recover, glancing at the arrow, then at him, and then to the archer, and then his easy smile was back on his lips.

"Truth be told, I don't know. I can't imagine it would be easy to find a single slave in Essos. Maybe he thought I was dead in the beginning, but after earning some renown? When my symbol was so much like his banners?" Rico asked with a small shake of his head, drawing Jonah's attention to the black skull on a white background with a gray crown painted on his shoulder pad.

"Maybe he just never heard. Maybe he did and tried to buy my freedom, but my master wouldn't sell. Maybe the price was too high for my father. Maybe he didn't try at all. I won't know until I stand before him again and ask that very question. Oh, and thank you, my friend." Rico said, the bitter undertone vanishing like smoke as he gestured to the arrow.

"Don't mention it. Alrighty then, get everyone ready to attack." Jonah ordered, reaching into his bag and pulling out a weapon that rarely saw the light of day. Wrapped in ballistic weave cloth, Jonah pulled it free to expose a leather hand with five very wicked looking claws. Each claw was about a foot long, half an inch thick and so sharp a hair could cut itself in half by falling on the edge.

"What ungodly creature did you get that trophy from?"

"A deathclaw," Jonah answered, sliding the glove on. Each claw could slice through several inches of steel like it wasn't even there with enough force. They were so tough that the only thing Jonah could sharpen them were other deathclaw claws.

"Yes. That makes sense."

* * *

"Very good. Remember, there are no mistakes in art-" Rovero Ross said, working on his own painting with flourish.

"Only happy accidents," Charlotte finished, accepting the beaming look of pride with grace. Rovero was an odd but pleasant. Narrowed shoulder, thin and short - he was a waif of a man but he more than made up for it in sheer enthusiasm for anything. His curly, bushy hair have him another few inches, and while it might not have every color in the spectrum dyed into it, it certainly wasn't for lack of trying on Revero's part. Even his carefully trimmed beard was dyed a multitude of colors, enough so that the original color was lost.

"Very good! Now, let me see your progress," Revero said, setting his paintbrush down as he walked over to examine hers.

Despite herself, Charlotte glanced over at his.

 _It's better than mine._ Of course, it would be. It was her first painting real painting after a handful of lessons, and Revero was a master. Of course, his would be better. Even still, she couldn't help but compare it to her one. Uneven lines, too much paint in some places and not enough in others.

Heat threatened to crawl over her face, but Charlotte crushed it with well-practiced ease. Her feet stayed firmly on the floor, no matter how much she wanted to shift from foot to foot as Revero examined her painting closely. As always, she stood straight and kept her face impassive, except for the slight quirk of her lips as if a smile was about to spread.

"Very good!" Revero called out, sending Charlotte that bright smile of his.

 _Liar_. It was nowhere near good, much less very good. It was hard to tell if he meant the words since he put that same amount of enthusiasm in everything that he did. A skill only the best liars had.

"As far as first lessons go, this one has been very productive! You have great talents for this, and I look forward to our next lesson Lady Charlotte," Revero said with a deep bow at the waist. It was for that reason only that he missed Charlotte's mask slipping. Her eyes widened as her lips parted, surprise written all over her face as she moved to correct him but she hesitated.

Lady Charlotte. The sound of it was so absurd that Charlotte nearly laughed. She was a great many things, but a Lady was not one of them. Yet, Charlotte hesitated at the foreign feeling in her chest - something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Pride.

With her hesitation, Charlotte missed her chance to correct him. Revero straightened back out and beamed joy out of every pour at her expression.

"I-" Charlotte started, at a loss to what to say, only to be saved as the heavy oak door opened. Glancing over, Charlotte watched the Messiah enter the room with a yawn.

 _He's handsome_. A strong jaw and a stubborn chin covered in a few days growth. High cheekbones and thin lips made for smiling and gentle kisses. His eyes...his eyes were a startling blue, but that wasn't why they were so striking. His eyes had so much...weight to them. They were the eyes of someone that saw untold horrors. Horrors that would drive good men to suicide and great men insane. Eyes that saw exactly just how cruel, vicious and downright evil humans could be once the veil of society was removed.

 _He's a killer_. He wore blood as naturally as nobles wore fine silks. The stench of death - of blood and fear clung to him like a perfume. Not even the countless mercenaries she served could compare to the sheer pleasure- no. Not pleasure. Satisfaction was a closer word to what the Messiah felt when he butchered his enemies by the dozens using nothing but his hands. Killing came to the Messiah as naturally as breathing.

 _He's a hero_. He was just as kind to others as he was merciless to his enemies. Already tales of his random acts of kindness reached her ears - most of them such a harsh contrast to the Messiah she knew, the one that smiled that wicked smile in the face of thousands of enemies, that Charlotte almost wondered if they were the same person.

"Hey," the Messiah greeted, a slight squish with every step from blood in his shoes, "thought I'd stop by and see how your lessons are going." He informed, his gaze shifting to Revero. Looking back at the smaller man, Charlotte had to stifle a chuckle at the wide eyed, slack jawed shocked expression. Either because he stood before the Messiah or because he was covered in the blood of dozens, maybe hundreds of men.

"I am making progress. Revero says I have some talent for art," Charlotte said, standing tall and pronouncing every word clearly. It wouldn't do to resort to slang. She was his translator for the time being, and after everything he's done for her, for every slave in Myr, Charlotte would not let him down.

"Good! Which one is yours?" the Messiah asked, striding towards the paintings as Revero numbly stepped out of his way.

 _The worst of the two_. "The one on the left."

A long second passed as the Messiah examined the painting, and Charlotte's heart pounded painfully in her chest. Gods, she hadn't felt this anxious since she was a child.

"I like it," The Messiah said, sending her a broad smile filled with white teeth. Charlotte searched his face for any deceit but found none. The Messiah was a poor liar - his face was far too expressive. When he was happy, he smiled. When he was annoyed, he would glare. When he was angry, he would kill someone.

The Messiah was very open, and very direct, that way.

"It is not finished, and I've made some mistakes," Charlotte began to protest, her eyes darting to the floor.

"Meh. I like it how it is. And beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so there's no point in arguing." The Messiah decided, lifting the painting up and completely careless if the blood smudges on the edges. "Come on. Let's go hang this up somewhere." Without another word, before Charlotte could even process that, he left the room in a blur. Only after he disappeared down the hall did it click.

"M-Messiah!" Charlotte called out, bunching up her skirts and giving chase. Only her naturally tanned skin saved her from turning beet red. By the time she reached the door, the Messiah had vanished around the corner, and Charlotte's heart plummeted to her feet.

 _He's heading to the ballroom_. The first true room in the palace. The largest, the most richly decorated with walls covered in masterpieces from some of the greatest artists in history. _He wants to hang it beside them_.

"He's utterly mad," Charlotte breathed, racing down the halls, her feet driven faster by grim determination. Her sham of a painting wouldn't hang next to pieces like the Wanderer above the Sea of Fog and Scenes of Life in Myr. Not if she had anything to say about it. She was decades away from being worthy of that honor if she ever deserved it at all.

For a long moment, as she raced down the halls, the only sounds were her feet hitting the ground. _Only one set of footsteps. How fast is he?_

Too fast. The Messiah said it himself only yesterday - how he wasn't sure if he could be called human. It seemed even his brisk pace left her and others in the dirt.

Eventually, Charlotte rounded a corner and saw she was far too late. Already a painting was resting on the floor as the Messiah hung her's up.

"Please stop," Charlotte called out breathlessly, and, instantly, Jonah did and sent her a questioning look. "Messiah-"

"Jonah," the Messiah corrected.

"I…" Charlotte started, not knowing what else to say. No- she knew exactly what to say, but Charlotte needed to phrase it in a way that the Messiah would accept. He was very willful as well. "I have not earned my place among these great paintings-"

"Says who? I like yours more than most of these," the Messiah cut in stubbornly. A smile threatened to tug at her lips, but Charlotte forced her lips into a smile. It wouldn't do to let him see how the compliment made her feel. It would defeat her point.

"Thank you, but I do," Charlotte said, digging a fingernail underneath another to stop herself from shifting from foot to foot. An old habit that she never managed to break simply because she only did it so rarely. "It isn't right for one of mine to replace the…" Her eyes found the painting on the floor.

"The Old Guitarist," Charlotte said, taking in a deep breath and letting it out softly. _A two thousand-year-old painting. Laying on the floor. Covered in blood smudges and dust_. Only years of keeping her composure no matter the situation saved her from screaming at the atrocity.

"Fair enough, I guess," the Messiah dismissed with a careless shrug of his shoulders as he removed Charlotte's painting. Charlotte moved to raise The Old Guitarist back to its rightful place gently, but she barely got it an inch off the ground.

 _The frame is made out of gold_. Not gilded steel. Actual gold. This frame contained more gold than Charlotte seen in her entire life, much less in one place. Much, much less than used for a simple decoration.

Seeing that Charlotte struggled with it, the Messiah hefted it up with ease and returned it to its rightful place on the wall. Instantly, her eyes zeroed in on the smudges of blood on the very edge of it, but Charlotte twisted her lips into a thin line instead of commenting.

"Thank you," Charlotte said with a small bow of her head.

"No problem," the Messiah said, grabbing her painting and started moving. "I have to go meet the councilors about a few things. Will you be able to translate for me?" He asked, walking up the steps to...to…

"Of course." _Oh, gods_. The Messiah missed the point entirely - that became abundantly clear as he walked towards the high table with her painting. With flourish, he turned a heavy chair made with as many jewels and precious metals as it was wood around, so it faced towards her and set Charlotte's painting in it.

 _Oh, gods_. Now that it was surrounded by true art, real masterpieces that withstood the test of time only then did Charlotte realized how utterly horrible her own painting was. A complete lack of background details, the soldiers on both sides looked more like smudges instead of humans. Only the painting of the Messiah charging ahead into a line of pikes ahead of the rebels had any detail at all.

Taking a step back, the Messiah nodded to himself, completely oblivious of Charlotte's mounting mortification, and sent her a smile that told her exactly how pleased with himself he was.

"Well, let's not keep them waiting," the Messiah said, walking off the ledge and dropping off twenty feet as if it were nothing. He landed with a loud thump, hinting at the weight of the ever-present bag on his back. Without another word, he started walking again, expecting Charlotte to follow.

Sparing the sham of a painting one last glance, Charlotte did exactly that.

* * *

"So, what's on the agenda today?" The Messiah asked as he settled in his chair, grabbing an orange that Charlotte prepared for him in advance. Over the days, she noticed he had a fondness for the fruit and made sure plenty were floating around the palace since he had a habit of exploring his surroundings.

"We must decide what will be done with the prisoners," councilor Varro spoke up, the previous slave for the Magister of Law, in perfect valerian.

"We have several hundred in the dungeons, but nearly half are children." Councilor Uvole added, the previous slave for the Magister of Trade, his second and third chins jiggling with every word. Unfortunately, he was sitting next to the Messiah, so both she and the Messiah had to deal with his stench of body odor that he tried to hide with too much sweet perfume.

"What is there to discuss?" Councilor Staven, the previous slave for the Magister of Infrastructure, countered, a thick black eyebrow climbing high until it reached his hairline. "They are slavers, and all slavers die. No exceptions," he said, sending a nod towards the Messiah.

Charlotte translated their words just as fast as they were speaking them. The Messiah scratched his cheek as he considered the decision, it weighing heavily on him.

"What's considered an adult in this city?" The Messiah asked, turning to look at her.

"For girls, it's once they've flowered so typically around twelve years of age. For boys, thirteen or fourteen. Though, most aren't considered men until they're able to grow facial hair. Anything before that is considered a child." Charlotte responded, pulling the answer from her days as a whore.

"So execute anyone over those ages." The Messiah said decisively with a small frown.

"If I may protest," Uvole interjected, "if we are going to execute them then perhaps the cut off line should be earlier? A child of twelve and thirteen will remember a life of luxury. And the one who took it from them."

Charlotte gave a hesitant nod about that as she translated the words. _Children. They're discussing killing children._

"It doesn't matter what they will remember. Names have power, and most of them have ancient, very powerful names. With this rebellion, I foresee old grudges being put aside to take down a common enemy. Us." Staven said, thumping his fist on the table for emphasis.

"With what? We've seized their wealth, slaughtered their retinue and the same goes for their allies. Names do have power, but they need things to make them powerful." Uvole protested, sending a glare at Staven.

"In Myr. The Sforza family has cadet branches in every free city of Essos. I would think they might object if we butcher children belonging to their family. The same goes for the Medici and Corntanza families." Varro argued, twisting his lips into a grimace of disgust.

"And what are we risking by angering them? They gather their armies and march on us? Spend all of their gold on mercenaries to sack and burn the city? Send assassins to slit our throats in the dead of night? They were going to do that anyway. By purging the noble families down to the roots, we remove names that others can rally behind."

"And 'the Messiah of Myr murders babies' isn't a rallying call?" A woman's voice rang out, and it was only when Charlotte saw that all eyes were on her that the voice was her's. She straightened underneath their gazes - the gazes of the powerful and influential.

Not all slaves were created equal. Pleasure slaves weren't at the bottom of the hierarchy, but they were a long way from the top.

"You-"

"Exactly," Uvole said, talking over Staven. "Why give the enemy more to use against us? Not to mention the fact of their value as hostages. We cannot avoid war, but perhaps we can eliminate a few participants. A father is less likely to fight with a blade to his son's throat."

"Sixteen." The Messiah said, a single word cutting through the argument like a hot knife through butter. He reached into his bag and grabbed the bottle of burning posion and took a deep drink from it. Any trace of emotion was gone from the word, and his gaze burned a hole through the table in front of him.

"M- Jonah?" Charlotte asked, her stomach twisting into knots.

"I'll execute anyone over the age of sixteen. Back home, that was what was considered an adult. Anything younger than that is off limits. To everyone," the Messiah said with a sense of finality. Finality that was argued not a second after she translated by a fool.

"Sixteen is well into adulthood, for men and women. If we are going to execute them, then we should-" Staven protested, but the Messiah talked over him.

"Sixteen is still just a kid. Only, at that point, you're capable of making informed decisions. I'll deal with them myself tonight." The Messiah said, blowing out a soft sigh as he took another large sip of his foul drink.

"As for the rest? The ones younger than sixteen? What will be done with them?" Uvole asked, sounding relieved.

"Spread a rumor that I'm going to execute the entire family of those that I know are in hiding. That should get the last masters in the city to give themselves up. After that…?" The Messiah asked with a small frown before shrugging his shoulders. "Find a place to keep them. And treat them well. They're going to have to reenter society at one point, and that's going to be difficult if they have a bunch of reasons to hate us. More reasons to hate us," the Messiah amended a second later.

Some councilors looked like they wanted to argue the decision while others nodded their heads in acceptance. Wisely, they all remained silent once the Messiah closed the matter.

"Now that w-you are in control of Myr, there is the issue of the contracts for several sellsword companies. The previous magisters of Myr were in a trade war with Lys, so we currently some well-known companies at our disposal." Varro said, moving on to the next matter at hand.

"Huh. We have an army...well, I guess all surprises can't be bad. How many do we have?" The Messiah asked.

"Just over ten thousand counting individual sellswords of talent and fifty sellsails. However, if we were to convert trade ships then we could easily double the size of our navy." Khavas, the previous slave to the Magister of Military, said. His mustache was shaking with every word. It was like someone stuck a broom underneath his large nose.

"And how many do Tyrosh and Lys have?"

"Tyrosh roughly has ten thousand while Lys has closer to fifteen thousand." Khavas answer and Charlotte frowned despite herself.

 _We're outnumbered nearly three-to-one._ Even with the rebels in the city and the pit fighters, they'd still be helplessly outnumbered. Not to mention that sellswords would have years, decades, of experience fighting and killing.

"As of right now, our greatest threat is Tyrosh and Lys allying to destroy us-" Khavas began only to stop when the Messiah raised a hand as Charlotte translated his words.

"I know about that, and I'll be leaving shortly to deal with it," the Messiah informed, a pit forming in Charlotte's stomach. The Messiah was leaving. The Messiah was leaving Myr. He was moving on...The entire council shifted at the news, some protesting but those too were cut off with a single wave of the hand from the Messiah.

"There can't be a Tyrosh-Lys alliance if I take out Tyrosh, now can there?" The Messiah asked, and the question barely registered even as Charlotte relayed it to the others.

 _He talks about destroying cities as a child would an ant hill_. And she believed it. Believed him. If the Messiah said he was going to destroy Tyrosh, then it was only a matter of time before Tyrosh was destroyed.

"I...no. There can't. When will you be leaving, my friend?" Rico asked in common, speaking up for the first time since the meeting began.

"Depends, how long of a walk is it to Tyrosh?"

"A week and a half on foot and six days by boat with a good wind. Tyrosh is an island on the edge of the Narrow and Myrish sea." Rico answered, and Charlotte didn't fail to notice how the councilors followed along with the conversation.

 _They aren't as sly as they think they are._ The thought came with no small amount of satisfaction. _I will tell the Messiah after the meeting._

"But, for you, I'm going to guess five days. Maybe less if you run." Rico added with a charming smile.

"What about those raven things you use? Will they know what happened here?" The Messiah asked, raising the question of how his people communicated back in the wasteland.

"I think it takes four days for a raven, so...yes. Though, it will take some time for them to prepare so they might not act on the information just yet."

"Alrighty then. I'll head out tomorrow morning," the Messiah said as he stood, deciding that was enough for today. Upon seeing some of the councilors begin to protest at him leaving, the Messiah continued, "I'll make an address at the executions tonight to the public. They should behave themselves until I get back in a couple of days. Now, if there's nothing else…?" A beat of silence was his answer.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Charlotte relayed the words and followed the Messiah with lead feet towards the door. Only for him to stop at the door before glancing over his shoulder.

"I learned a long time ago that you couldn't stop someone from being stupid. But, for your sakes, I'm going to give it one last shot," the Messiah said, making eye contact with each councilor. They fidgeted underneath the weight of his gaze almost as if the Messiah actually put weight on their shoulders. "Some of you are going to see this as an opportunity to seize power and rule Myr in place of the masters."

"Here's my advice to you," the Messiah said as he turned around and started walking.

"Don't."


End file.
